


These dark obsessions

by Yukichouji



Series: Werewolf Sweet Pea AU [2]
Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Acid Burns, Acid Drinking, Aftermath of Sexual Assault, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood Vomiting, Blood and Injury, Crying, Dark Magic, Dark Sweet Pea (Riverdale), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Electric shocks, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Flashbacks, Ghosts, Graphic, Hand Jobs, Hurt Jughead Jones, Jughead Jones Needs a Hug, Jughead still has feelings for Betty, Knotting, M/M, Magic, Mating, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Monsters, Monsters are Real, Panic Attacks, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Possessive Sweet Pea (Riverdale), Protective Fangs Fogarty, Protective Toni Topaz, Repressed Memories, Rough Kissing, Season/Series 02, Sexual Assault, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, Victim Blaming, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolf Sweet Pea (Riverdale), Will add tags as I go, anger management issues, background choni, possible ooc, werewolf anatomy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 135,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yukichouji/pseuds/Yukichouji
Summary: Jughead wakes up on the couch in his dad’s trailer, sunlight streaming in thick and bright through the windows, the alarm on his phone jerking him harshly out of a strange, disturbing dream that fades from his mind as soon as he returns to consciousness, leaving behind nothing but an unsettled feeling deep in his gut. A strangeness that lingers as he blearily gropes for his phone to shut off the piercing ring of his alarm. Moving hurts. He feels sore all over for some reason and it makes absolutely no sense, not even with having spent another night on this damn couch.ORSweet Pea is a werewolf, who's dead set on having Jughead as his mate. Jughead doesn't want any of it. The world slowly begins to implode around them.
Relationships: Jughead Jones/Sweet Pea
Series: Werewolf Sweet Pea AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689127
Comments: 217
Kudos: 193





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This directly follows [I hunt for you (with bloody feet across the hallow ground)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21757339), but from Jughead's POV.
> 
> Not all warnings apply to all chapters and I will be updating tags as I go. This is pretty dark, so consider yourself warned. Please be mindful of your needs and potential squicks. <3
> 
> I've been wanting to write a second fic with werewolf!Sweet Pea for a good while now and I finally got around to starting, whoop. I don't know what my updating schedule will be like (or how long exactly this is going to turn out to be), because I'm still working (albeit form home) and I'd like to give myself the freedom to work on shorter one-shots in between chapters (I have some prompts to check off and am still accepting over on [Tumblr](https://yukichouji.tumblr.com/), if you feel like dropping by). Just as a heads up. But I have the concept for this pretty much worked out and I plan on sticking with it. I hope it all works out.
> 
> That having been said, I hope you enjoy~

~*~*~

Jughead wakes up on the couch in his dad’s trailer, sunlight streaming in thick and bright through the windows, the alarm on his phone jerking him harshly out of a strange, disturbing dream that fades from his mind as soon as he returns to consciousness, leaving behind nothing but an unsettled feeling deep in his gut. A strangeness that lingers as he blearily gropes for his phone to shut off the piercing ring of his alarm. Moving hurts. He feels sore all over for some reason and it makes absolutely no sense, not even with having spent another night on this damn couch.

He can’t, for the life of him, come up with anything he did yesterday that would explain this level of discomfort. Jughead groans, ill-tempered and confused, as he heaves himself up into a sitting position and his thighs and his behind complain sharply. Honestly, what the fuck?

It’s a quarter past seven in the morning, it’s Friday and he has school today, so he can’t really afford to dawdle, but he still moves slowly, gingerly as he gets out of bed, the ache in his muscles not leaving him much of a choice. He hisses in a breath through his teeth, when he takes his first step and the twinge that shoots up his spine cuts the movement short, his head spinning a little. Did he have such a vivid dream that he fucking tore a muscle in his leg while he was sleeping or something?

Moving much more gingerly, Jughead pads barefoot across the rough floorboards of the living room, past the kitchen where he can see a note from his dad pinned to the fridge, already off to work at Pop’s, and then onto the cool, smooth tiles of the bathroom, where he takes a long, searching look in the mirror, eyeing himself suspiciously. He looks paler than usual, the shadows underneath his eyes a little darker, a little more pronounced, and there’s a haunted quality to his slightly puffy eyes that he can’t quite explain, but aside form that, he looks completely normal. There’s nothing to explain the tenderness in his neck, when he stretches it or the way some places ache, when he prods them. No physical marks to give him a clue as to what the fuck is going on here.

When he lifts up his shirt to take a closer look at his hips, traces his fingers across the places that feel strangely bruised, they don’t look any different than the rest of him. Just, nothing. Maybe he’s coming down with a really bad cold or something? That might explain the strange soreness at least, but he doesn’t have any of the other symptoms either, like a sore throat or a runny nose, so maybe not. Jughead shakes his head in frustration and huffs irritably as he starts to strip out of his t-shirt and boxers so that he can hop into the shower in the hopes that the hot water will sooth his aches a little.

And it actually does, thank God. As soon as he turns on the spray and steam starts rising into the air around him, he closes his eyes and tilts his head into the water, intent on soaking up the heat, sighing at the way it works itself into his muscles and helps loosen them. After a bit, even his head starts to feel better, less stuffy and more clear, more awake and lucid. The fact of how good it feels makes him linger a bit longer than he should, but it’s very much worth it. Because he still feels like shit, when he finally steps out of the shower, but a little less so, at least.

He towels off and brushes his teeth quickly, then heads back to the bedroom to get dressed. Walking still feels uncomfortable and he can’t help the slight hitch in his step, but it’s not as bad, as it was before, so maybe he’s lucky and he didn’t actually tear anything. Maybe all it is is a little sprain. Not that that isn’t still plenty fucking weird, but it seems a lot more manageable, at least.

Since he took longer in the shower, than usual, Jughead doesn’t have any time left for breakfast, if he wants to make it in time for first period, so he just grabs two slices of toast, squishes one of them up until he can stuff it into his mouth as a whole and slips the other one into the breast pocket of his Sherpa jacket. The school still won’t let them wear their Serpent leathers, but at least they’re back to their regular clothes and away from those hideous, donated uniforms, so that’s something.

Jughead grabs his keys off of the kitchen table and does his best not to choke on his mouthful of bread as he hobbles carefully down the front steps to the trailer, feeling like an idiot. It’s too bad he doesn’t have enough time to have a cup of coffee at least, because he could really fucking use one. But he guesses he’ll just have to manage this shit show of a day without caffeine for now, Jughead thinks, his mood not exactly improved by the prospect.

The ride to school on his bike is less than pleasant, but he manages somehow. By the time he’s making his slow way through the main entrance to Riverdale High, hurriedly chewing on his second slice of toast as a slew of other students pass him by, he’s about ready to bite off the next person’s head, who looks at him wrong. Not exactly ideal, but honestly? Not his fucking problem right now either.

He does actually get a few strange looks from the handful of people who bother paying attention to him in the first place, students at their lockers turning to frown at him, some of them looking outright taken aback. But Jughead manages to not bark at them, just so, and instead just shoots them glares until they realize that they’re staring and quickly avert their eyes, only to turn to their friends and start whispering amongst themselves. His scowl growing deeper, Jughead just tries to ignore them, the way he’s had plenty of time to practice during his long career of being the resident weirdo, but he can’t deny that it kind of bothers him. It just adds to the general weirdness of this fucking day.

Because a little hitch in his step and some extra paleness really shouldn’t be enough to account for that sort of reaction. Jughead rounds the corner into the corridor where he’ll find his chem lab, only to almost collide with Toni, going the other way with a stack of text books clutched to her chest. “Shit, Jug! You scared the crap out of me.” Toni huffs, looking a little stressed as she readjusts her grip on her books. “I just wanted to get these to my locker before class starts, but – wait.“ She does an almost classic double take, her eyes going wide as they slide over Jughead’s neck, then her face morphs into a scowl and she grabs onto Jughead’s elbow hard enough to hurt.

“What the –“ Jughead starts, but Toni just shushes him harshly, her gaze darting up and down the hallway before she uses her grip on him and starts to drag him after her. Right into the girl’s bathroom. Where she sets her books down onto one of the sinks, does a hurried swipe of the stalls to make sure they’re all empty and there’s no-one else in here with them and then walks back over to Jughead. Who’s standing there like a total dumbass, having a tiny bit of trouble coping with the fact that she just _dragged him into the girl’s bathroom_.

“Do you want to tell me, what the Hell happened to your neck?” Toni practically hisses at him, so close that Jughead reflexively takes a step back, his hands coming up placatingly, caught off guard by her sudden intensity.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Jughead blurts out, feeling ill equipped to deal with this situation right now. This is way too strange for him, especially with the morning he just had and no coffee in his system at all.

Toni’s brows furrow in confusion and she reaches for Jughead again, pulling him up to one of the mirrors and making him turn so that he can gaze at his own reflection, Jughead hobbling along awkwardly. “What do you mean, you don’t know what I’m talking about? You’re seeing what I’m seeing here, right?” She rushes out, her hand waving up and down indicating Jughead’s neck and when Jughead follows her prompt and really looks at himself there’s a strange shift in the atmosphere. Like when you’re hiking and there’s a build up of pressure in your ears until you yawn and it suddenly pops.

As if one layer of reality abruptly gets ripped away to reveal another Jughead blinks and the world has shifted and now there are bruises on his neck, stark and vivid against his pale skin and there’s no way in Hell he could have just overlooked those before. Because those are fucking _teeth marks_ , for God’s sake. A full fucking set imprinted along the left side of his neck and, when he twists a little, he can see the edge of another bite mark across his nape, that one with actual dried blood crusted along the indents of the eyeteeth.

His eyes wide and his breath coming too quickly, a horrible twist in his gut making him feel faintly nauseous, Jughead takes a step back from the mirror and carefully lifts up the hem of his t-shirt, looking down at himself, almost afraid of what he’s going to find there. And he’s right, there are more bruises there, wrapping around both sides of his hips and when he pulls the waistband of his jeans down a little, he can recognize the shape. The outlines of fingers painted in blue and purple against his skin. Jughead can feel blood rushing to his head and the world starts to spin dangerously out of focus and at the same time it feels like the walls of the bathroom are beginning to close in on him, as if the room is shrinking with him still in it.

“Jughead?” Toni says carefully, one hand reaching out, the tips of her fingers brushing his arm and Jughead flinches at the contact, his heartbeat racing as he spins around and starts to back away form her until his back hits the cold, tiled wall between two of the sinks. A blinding stab of pain shoots through his head and Jughead gasps and presses his palm to his temple, eyes screwing shut. But instead of darkness, he sees images dance across the insides of his eyelids.

Flashes of distorted shapes, skipping over each other too quickly for him to make anything out and it fucking _hurts_. He brings his other hand up so that he can press it against his other temple and he slides down along the wall until his ass hits the ground and he pulls his knees up to his chest to press his forehead against them, breathing erratically. There’s a fuzzy image of the moon, bright and full high up in the night sky, Sweet Pea’s trailer, the inside of it dark and eerie, Sweet Pea’s face but there’s something wrong with his eyes, they’re too bright, glowing golden in the shadows, then Sweet Pea with him, on him, rough and unyielding as he _kiss_ _es_ him.

And Jughead’s breathing so quickly, he feels like he’s suffocating, like he’s not getting any air into his lungs at all. Then there’s another sharps stab of pain in his head, the feeling of teeth sinking into his neck, of a body draped all along his back and – and then nothing. The world just winks out like a flickering candle.

~*~*~

Jughead jolts back to consciousness, the world lurching around him and then snapping into focus like a rubber band that’s been stretched and then released. Toni is crouching in front of him, looking honestly worried instead of annoyed now and Jughead opens his mouth to say something, but that’s when his stomach starts to cramp, a wave of nausea overtaking him. Jughead jerks to the side and scrambles over to the trash can in the corner, just barely making it in time to lean over it and clutch at it’s metal edge while the meager contents of his stomach violently make their way back out into the world.

By the time his stomach has been reduced to a burning ball of acid, nothing left to chuck up, Jughead is trembling with the strain, a sheen of cold sweat covering his forehead and the biting stench of vomit thick in the air around him. Toni has followed him over, one of her hands stroking up and down his back in what he guesses is supposed to be a soothing gesture, but for some reason the touch only makes his skin crawl and he shrugs it off carefully. She doesn’t say anything about it, just hands him a wadded up ball of paper towels and Jughead takes them from her shakily so that he can wipe them across his mouth and then drop them into the trash with the rest of the mess.

“Jug, look at me.” Toni says after he’s had a moment to catch his breath and he does, goes through the effort it takes to turn his head towards her and at least her face is only swimming a little in front of his eyes now. “What happened last night, Jug? Please tell me you didn’t go talk to Sweet Pea after I specifically told you not to. After I told you how important it would be to give him a couple days to cool off after that stupid incident with Mantle?”

“I don’t –“ Jughead tries and gets cut off by his own gasp, eyes screwing shut against the renewed stab of pain that shoots through his temples. That’s right, he was going to go see Sweet Pea last night. He has the vague memory of standing in front of Sweet Pea’s trailer, angry and pissed off and ready to have a long talk about what had happened. But everything after that is just a dizzying blur and the harder he tries to see any of it clearly the more ill he feels, a frightening sense of vertigo like he’s stuck on a merry go round that’s moving way too quickly.

“I don’t know.” Jughead finally forces himself to say, his eyes opening again so that he can look at Toni. “I think I did, but I – I can’t fucking remember what happened. I remember standing in front of his trailer and then, I don’t know, the rest is just a total blur. I have no idea what – what happened. I don’t even know how I got home or into my bed last night and I –“

Jughead stops himself there. He’s starting to breathe too quickly, too shallowly again and he’s afraid he’s going to make himself pass out a second fucking time, if he doesn’t watch out. Toni gives him a look stuck somewhere between angry and pitying and Jughead doesn’t know what the Hell is _going on_. None of this makes any fucking sense and it’s scaring the shit out of him.

“You need to _go home_.” Toni finally says emphatically, getting up out of her crouch and wrapping a hand around Jughead’s elbow to help him along. Jughead groans and finds his footing. He still feels shaky and wrong, but he twists out of her grip as soon as he’s upright anyway. “You can’t walk around like _that_.” She berates inently, one hand coming up to indicate his throat again. “It’s fucking dangerous. I can’t explain right now, but I promise I will. I’ll come by the trailer later to check on you, but there’s some other stuff I really need to take care of firts. God, you have no idea what you did.”

With that, before Jughead has the chance to sort himself out and start asking one of the million questions clattering around in his head noisily, she turns and grabs onto his elbow again, uncaring of his protest as she pulls him with her. Jughead clenches his teeth against the way it still hurts to walk that quickly and scrambles along awkwardly as she leads them out of the girl’s bathroom and down the now deserted hall towards the main entrance of the school. The bell for first period must have rung while Jughead was out, he thinks blearily.

Just as the big set of double doors they’re heading for comes into sight, though, Cheryl of all people materializes out of fucking nowhere, as seems to be one of her many talents, aside from being absolutely obnoxious and raising Hell wherever she sets foot. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and huffs at them, a deep scowl on her face, when Toni just so manages to avoid running headfirst into her.

“Watch it, charity case.” Cheryl snaps, her eyes on Toni as she looks down her nose at them, her cherry-red lips pursed unkindly. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class instead of running round in the halls unsupervised and no doubt up to some kind of unpleasant mischief?”

To Jughead’s surprise, Toni seems to be a little lost for words for a second there, which is not her usual MO at all. But she catches herself quickly and glowers back at Cheryl. “Maybe I should be asking you, what it is _you’re_ doing in the hall during class.” Toni gripes, very obviously not in the mood for Cheryl’s bullshit right now. Jughead can more than relate. “Unfortunately, neither do I care nor do I have the time to actually listen to you. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

With that, Toni shoulders past Cheryl, pulling Jughead along with her. “Hey, watch it, you pleb!” Cheryl calls after them, but when Jughead throws another glance at her over his shoulder, confusion has replaced the malice on her face and she looks more contemplative than anything as she stares after the two of them. Her eyes firmly glued to the back of Jughead’s neck, where the bite mark stands out starkly. Something anxious and ominous flutters in Jughead’s already upset stomach and he turns around quickly to follow Toni out of the doors, leaving Cheryl behind for good.

Once they reach Jughead’s bike, Toni takes his helmet from where it’s hanging off of one of the handle bars and shoves it against his chest none too gently. “Go home.” She tells him again sternly, as if talking to a child in need of scolding. “And then stay there until I come by later, do you understand? This is really important, alright?”

A displeased frown pulling at Jughead’s features, Jughead fumbles to catch the helmet before it can fall to the ground as she lets go of it, taken aback by her attitude and still more than a little shaken from whatever it was that just fucking happened to him. Whatever the Hell is going, there’s something seriously wrong with him, he doesn’t even need the insistent feeling of unease in his gut to tell him that much. “Yes, alright.” He bites out, not even trying to dull down his ill temper. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck is up with all of this then?”

“I will. I promise.” Toni says, her voice easing off a little and her eyes take on a softer look as she regards him standing there, pale and bruised as he is. “I just need to take care of a couple of things beforehand, like I said. But as long as you do as I told you, you’ll be alright for now.”

Then she turns on her heels and resolutely marches back towards the school, leaving Jughead behind without so much as another glance in his direction. Once she’s got her mind set on something, it’ll take a Hell of a lot to get her off track, Jughead’s learned that much since they became friends. He pulls off his beanie and puts on his helmet, then stows his beanie in his school bag and climbs onto his bike, wincing a as he swings his leg over and sits down. The motor purrs to life beneath him with the first twist of his keys, familiar and comforting and the feeling as it vibrates through him actually manages to calm him down a little. This he knows, this he can do.

Gravel crunches under the wheels as Jughead pulls off of the school’s parking lot and onto the road. At first, he actually does intend to head home, not just because that’s what Toni told him to do, but because he feels like absolute shit. He’s shaky and aching and his stomach still feels unpleasantly queasy, a faint but insistent headache throbbing outwards from his temples and those flashes of images form earlier… They’re stuck in his head like a broken video cassette, more faint now, but he still finds himself unable to shake them, no matter how awful it feels to try to actually focus on any of them. All he wants to do is crawl into his bed and hide under the covers like a scared fucking kid and refuse to come out until this shit starts making sense.

But. The closer he gets to Sunnyside Trailer Park, the worse that unease in his gut gets. It’s like a vice being tightened around his chest, making it harder and harder to breathe, ants crawling underneath his skin, itchy and insistent and it gets so bad that he eventually just can’t fucking take it any more. He ends up pulling up at the side of the road and leaning over the handlebars of his bike to try and catch his breath, pulse racing loudly in his ears. Eyes screwed shut to try and block out the world, but that doesn’t really help at all and he ends up staring off into the distance instead. Focusing on the trees, that endless sea of green that spreads out along the borders of Riverdale.

He can’t go back home, Jughead realizes miserably. Not like this. But he can’t just fucking stay here either. He needs to figure out what’s going on with him, or he’ll just lose it and go completely crazy or something. Like, loony bin levels of insanity. So Jughead pulls in a deep, shaky breath, re-starts his bike and heads to the first place he can think of that feels safe enough to bear right now. The town library.

~*~*~

Slowly climbing the steps that lead up to the library’s main entrance, hampered by the ache in his thighs and at the same time desperately trying not to think about it, the tall brownstone building looms ominously against the slightly overcast sky of an early autumn morning. Jughead knows these steps well. He’s walked them countless times as a child and after, too. He’d discovered his love for reading early, and since his parents couldn’t really afford to buy him books, least of all in the speed he tended to devour them in, the library had quickly become one of his favorite places in the world.

A much needed escape from reality. An endless well of knowledge and stories about anything and everything, making it almost impossible to choose what to delve into next. Growing these ideas in his head that maybe he’d be able to tell stories of his own one day, that he’d grow up to share his own mysteries, his thoughts solidified into paper, something he could hold in his hands and be proud of. The reason he started writing way back then. The reason he still is, refusing to let go of that dream, regardless of how hopelessly futile it might seem sometimes. It’s the only thing he’s got that keeps him hoping.

Somehow, a part of Jughead believes, that if there’s any place at all where he’ll find answers to the questions knocking themselves around in his head, making him feel heavy and lost, then this is it.

There’s an old vending machine in the tiny entrance hall of the building and Jughead uses the opportunity to stock up on sustenance a little, entertaining the vague hope that his stomach will feel a bit less queasy once he’s gotten some food into his system. Hands still strangely shaky he digs out all of the change he can find on himself and gets soda, chips, a Hershey’s bar and some trail mix, then carefully stows all of that away in his bag. You’re not actually supposed to take any food into the library, but Jughead’s always figured it only counts, if he lets himself get caught.

He takes his phone out and sets it to ‘silent’, then waits until old Mrs. Roswell at the reception desk is distracted by some kid trying to return a whole stack of past due books and he can slip by her and into the bowels of the library unnoticed. Then makes his slow, painstaking way to the farthest corner of the library, where the non-fiction resides. Past the home improvement section, the biographies, the survival manuals, all the way to the ancient and dusty history tomes, the ones that no-one ever checks out for some reason. He knows chances are that he’ll remain undisturbed here.

Jughead heads down the last aisle, delimited by a tall row of metal bookshelves on the right and the wall of the building to the left, all the way to it’s end. There in the corner just beneath on of the wide windows high up on the wall, Jughead takes off his bag and then his jacket, drops the Sherpa onto the floor so that he can sink down onto it, his back resting against he wall and his legs crossing. His favorite spot in the entire building. It has good light, it’s quiet and there’s hardly ever any traffic. He can’t even count the hours anymore that he’s spent hiding away here over the course of his childhood and youth. A safe haven, if none other is to be found.

As soon as Jughead’s sitting, a shaky breath escapes him and he has to close his eyes against the sudden onslaught of emotion, too much to handle, his hands shaking as they come up to run across his beanie, back and forth across the familiar texture of the soft wool. He feels – he doesn’t _know_ how he feels, only that he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to breathe around it. It takes him a moment, but eventually, he manages to calm himself back down, to remind himself that whatever it is, he’s _safe_ here. He’ll figure this out. All he has to do is apply himself. There has to be some kind of explanation for all of it, something he’s just not seeing, yet.

Wincing and spreading his legs out in front of him, Jughead digs his laptop out of his bag and sets it down on his thighs before he opens it. It’s less than comfortable, but he’ll just have to fucking manage. The library has free WiFi, so he’s set for now, he’ll be able to work from here. He just needs to figure out where to start. Speaking of.

Jughead leans over and digs around in his bag again, until he finds the small pack of chips he got from the wending machine and he tears it open with unsteady hands. He really needs to get some food into himself or he’ll never feel any better. It’ll take care of the shakiness and the queasy feeling in his stomach and make his head feel less awful, at least that’s what he strongly hopes. The first chip he sticks into his mouth tastes like cardboard and it feels weird and unpleasant against his tongue, but he keeps eating anyway, the movement automatic, going through the motions that usually bring him comfort, even if they fall somewhat short now. Digs out the soda, too and takes a long sip of it to help wash down the salty chips, the artificial sweetness cloying as it slides down his throat.

Then he starts his re-search. Delves into it head first. He begins by listing his symptoms and seeing what the search engine will spit out, figuring there’s going to be a lot of bullshit amongst the results that won’t help him at all, but maybe he’ll get lucky and something will make sense. Maybe he should have thought the whole thing through a little more carefully beforehand, though, because the first thing that plops up is a long list of forums and hot lines and help pages for victims of sexual assault and trauma and Jughead closes the browser tap again so quickly he almost knocks the laptop off of his thighs, heart racing and throat closing up like there’s a vice wrapped around it.

Memory loss, bruises and pains he can’t explain, weird flashbacks. He really should have foreseen where googling _that_ would lead him. So stupid. Jughead shuts the laptop and sets it aside, brings up a clammy hand and drags it across his face in an attempt to gather himself. That’s bullshit, he thinks with so much vehemence it makes his teeth ache. There’s no way in _Hell_. A cold and sickly feeling settles deep in his gut, almost like panic, but not.

He traces the bite marks on his neck with the tips of his fingers, still so tender, brings one of his hands down to rest against his hip, its outline mirroring the shape of the bruises underneath his clothes. He was going to see Sweet Pea last night, he remembers being angry at him for threatening Reggie with a switchblade and getting himself suspended, for causing that kind of stupid, senseless trouble and making things worse for the rest of the Serpents trying to acclimate into their new school. Jughead remembers wanting to talk to him about it. And it was Sweet Pea he saw in those, those flashbacks – if that’s even what they were, maybe he’s just losing his mind, playing tricks on himself. And that’s _exactly_ why it can’t be.

Because Jughead may not know Sweet Pea that well, yet – heck, most of the time they don’t even really get along – but something like this? Sweet Pea would never do that to him. Jughead knows that. He refuses to believe anything else. So this is all _bullshit_. This isn’t something that happens to him. Jughead knows that it’s a real thing, that it’s horrible and fucked up beyond rationale, but it’s also something that happens to other people, people Jughead doesn’t know and probably never will, something vague and safely distant. There has to be some other explanation. One that might not seem obvious at the moment, but that will make perfect sense once he’s gotten to the bottom of it. He just needs to dig deep enough and he’ll get there eventually.

He keeps repeating that mantra in his head, until his breathing begins to slow down again and his heart climbs back into his chest out of his throat and his head stops feeling like it’s about to fucking explode. He needs to go about this differently, smarter. So, when he finally reaches for his laptop and opens it back up gingerly, he tries again with the search engine, but this time he types in ‘bite’ and ‘hallucinations’ and ‘memory loss’.

He gets a weird mix of venomous animals, medical conditions involving either hallucinations or memory loss and possible treatment, including diabetes and Alzheimer’s – which he’s pretty confident is not his problem – and some other, a little more outlandish stuff as a result. It feels much, much safer. And so he starts to delve in, clicks through the pages of the search engine and reads article after article, regardless of how seemingly not linked it is to his situation, looking for any kinds of clues. Time ticks by and he doesn’t even really notice, the changing of the quality of the light that flits in through the high windows something he barely registers.

He only gets up to use the restroom once or twice, then immediately returns to his reading, burying himself in it as best he can. By the time the speakers overhead crackle to life and the announcement that the library will be closing in 30 minutes drones on overhead, Jughead has entered truly weird territory. He has 5 different tabs open on mythological creatures of some sort, chief amongst them, you guessed it, _werewolves_. Because, of fucking course. But he hasn’t found anything that’s helped him so far and, as absurd as it may be, the reading is still interesting and so what, if he got sucked down the rabbit hole a little?

He closes his laptop now, though, and quietly sits and waits, reaching for his last item of food, the Hershey’s bar, pealing off the wrapping and chewing on that absentmindedly. Jughead’s familiar with Mrs. Roswell’s route to canvas for stragglers before she locks up and he knows that she won’t come this far back, unless she finds something amiss, which really shouldn’t be the case. This isn’t the first time Jughead’s stayed past closing without anyone the wiser. The cleaning crew only comes in twice a weak after hours, Wednesdays and Saturdays, if he recalls correctly, so that shouldn’t really be a problem either. And if he needs to get out before the library reopens tomorrow morning, he knows that the side entrance is only locked from the outside.

Jughead’s aware that he’ll need to go home eventually, he’s been purposefully avoiding checking his phone and he’s pretty sure Toni will be mad as Hell once she does get a hold of him, but the thing is, right now Jughead just can’t. Not before he hasn’t figured out what the fuck is going on. Not like this. Because every time he takes so much as a second to think about it, it feels like the walls are closing in on him again, like he’s trapped, his head pounding and his pulse racing, chest pulling tight like he can’t breathe, and the panic just gets worse the longer he lingers. So he doesn’t.

He keeps his mind off of it and plows on. No matter how badly his eyes are swimming from staring at the screen of his laptop for too long, or how uncomfortable it is sitting like this, no matter the crick developing in his neck or the fact that all he’s eaten today is what he got from the wending machine when he got here this morning, or how fucking tired he is. None of it matters, all he knows it that he needs to keep going.

And he does. As soon as the overhead lights blink out and he hears the front doors being shut he delves right back in, the pale fingers of the rising full moon pouring in through the windows above to bathe him in an eerie glow, the only source of illumination beside the screen of his laptop. It’s a little strange, how well the full moon coincides with his current reading topic, Jughead thinks and can’t quite suppress the shudder than runs down his spine at the thought. Weirder still, how hyper aware he is of it, how his gaze keeps getting drawn to it, high up in the starless, ink black night sky. How he imagines he can almost feel it’s beams on his skin like a feather-light caress, like something alive and real.

It makes him feel shivery and vaguely feverish and his gut pulls tight as if in anticipation, as if he’s waiting for something, though he couldn’t say for the life of him for what exactly. Then, suddenly, a shadow cuts through the moonlight, a black streak that races across the floor, the walls, too quickly for Jughead to make out it’s shape and he snaps his head up towards the window, startled. For a moment, breath held, nothing happens. He’s almost ready to admit that he’s starting to see things, when it comes again, a black blur rushing past the windows with a speed that makes it impossible to say anything other than that and Jughead jerks back, his pulse racing.

The thing is, those windows are at least 6 foot five up and there’s no way a regular person could reach that high without a ladder, let alone move that quickly. All of his senses tingling with a strange sort of awareness, Jughead slams his laptop shut and stuffs it into his bag as quickly as he can, then grabs his bag and his jacket and stumbles to his feet, trying to be as quiet as he can while he moves.

Jughead doesn’t know what’s going on, all he knows is that he needs to get out of here. He’s so intent on rushing along the aisles of bookshelves towards the side entrance, that he almost doesn’t notice how much easier it is to move, how the pain from this morning has faded into a dull sort of ache that hardly even slows him down now. He reaches the side entrance, breathless and shaky, and yanks it open, cold air hitting his flushed face, only for a wolfish howl to cut through the night. Eerie and feral, utterly inhuman and much too close, the sound echoing down the empty streets of the town center.

Heart racing in his throat, Jughead slams the door shut again and a second later, something huge and heavy crashes against it hard enough to make the walls of the building vibrate with the impact. Jughead spins around on his heels, white noise rushing through his ears as he starts to run in the opposite direction, back into the depths of the library, panic gripping at him with icy cold fingers. ‘This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening’, is all he can think as he moves. This is something straight out of a bad horror movie, not an actual part of his _reality_. Jughead skitters to a stop next to a row of reading tables and just tries to listen for a moment, but all he can hear is his own ragged breathing.

Then, there’s another loud crash, but from the other end of the library by the windows, the sound of splintering glass and something heavy hitting the floor with a dull thud. Jughead draws in a sharp breath and frantically scans his surroundings for a hiding place, his gaze landing on the reading desks. Without thinking, Jughead scrambles down and beneath one of them, then pulls the chair back up in front of the desk, trying to curl up and make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible.

There’s another fraught stretch of silence, then a huff and the sound of glass shards softly hitting the floor and after that, the padding of large feet across the hardwood, something sharp and pointy clicking along ominously. Coming closer. The sound of sniffing, like an animal scenting the air, followed by a low growl. Jughead clamps his shaky hands over his mouth in a frantic attempt to keep himself quiet. In the pale light of the full moon, he can see something large and furry stalk past his desk, four strong legs like those of a wolf, huge paws and the dagger-sharp glint of claws as they move.

The smell of a large dog, of forest and earth and something a little more subtle underneath, bitter and coppery, making Jughead’s stomach turn and nausea rise up again, wafts over to him and he holds his breath and screws his eyes shut and listens with every fiber of his self. The clawed paws click past him, then there’s silence again, seconds stretching by like minutes as his frantic heart flutters against his ribs like the wings of a panicking bird beating against the bars of its cage. Then another huff and a growl and the next thing Jughead knows the chair in front of his desk gets yanked away and goes flying, the sound of splintering wood booming loudly through the silence and Jughead flinches back instinctively.

The desk above him rattles precariously and a huge wolf’s snout bullies its way underneath, into Jughead’s space and he tries to scramble away form it, but he’s closed in from all other sides and he can’t evade the sharp-toothed jaws that snap for him, that close around his shoulder until teeth pierce the cloth of his jacket, his t-shirt, and bite into his skin. Jughead makes a terrified, high-pitched sound in the back of his throat, waiting for those teeth to break his skin and tear him apart, but instead, the wolf uses its careful hold on him to drag him out form under the desk, into the open until he’s bathed in a puddle of moonlight streaming in through the broken set of windows high up above.

The wolf lets go of Jughead’s shoulder and instead plants a huge paw onto Jughead’s chest to keep him still, lying supine on the library’s hardwood floor and that’s the first time Jughead really gets a good look at it. It’s like a timber wolf, but not, Jughead’s frantic brain supplies. It’s much, much bigger, almost as long as Jughead is tall and its back would easily reach Jughead’s waist,if he were standing. A pitch black coat of fur covering every inch of it, eyes that gleam golden in the moon’s pale light, wider and stronger than any wolf Jughead’s seen before, more reminiscent of a grizzly bear in build, a beast made for one purpose and one purpose only. Slaughter. As if violence is the only state of being it should know.

A thing out of his worst nightmares. A real life monster. At the same time, a strange, fluttery sense of recognition, there and gone again withing the blink of an eye. The wolf huffs out a hot, billowing breath that gusts across Jughead’s face and carries a sickening odor of death with it, then it bends down and drags a cold, wet snout across the line of Jughead’s throat, nudges at the soft underside of Jughead’s chin until Jughead has no choice but to tip his head back and bare his throat to the beast. Jughead tries to lift a hand and shove it away, but the wolf growls and snaps at him angrily and Jughead drops his hand back to the floor and goes as still as he can, body taut as a steel wire, feeling like he can’t fucking breath at all.

The wolf opens its maw again, yellowed fangs glinting sharp and dangerous, the promise of a violent, awful death, and it bends down to bracket Jughead’s throat in its jaws. Jughead’s hearts stops for a second as the teeth graze his skin, sure that this is it, this is how he’ll die, terrified and alone and bloody, but then the wolf pulls back and instead darts out a big, rough tongue. Drags it along Jughead’s throat, catching on his bobbing Adam’s apple, and all across his face. Jughead screws his eyes shut and presses his mouth into a thin line reflexively, trying to force himself to hold still despite how gross it feels.

A moment later the wolf huffs contentedly and it’s over, its jaws closing around Jughead’s shoulder again as the animal begins to drag Jughead along with it across the hard floor, deeper into the shadows of the library until it finds a dark corner where it drops Jughead unceremoniously. Jughead automatically curls in on himself, the desperate need to shield his most vulnerable parts outweighing any possible logical thought process, his shoulder burning with the memory of the wolf’s fangs against his skin. The wolf yips at him and then drops down heavily next to Jughead, curling around him like a dark and heavy blanked, its fur soft and ticklish where it touches Jughead’s skin, one strong front leg draping over Jughead to keep him still.

The warmth that the wolf in his fur coat gives off seeps into Jughead through layers of clothing, a stifling cocoon of flesh and bone and hard muscle that makes it difficult to breathe and then the wolf’s tongue returns, dragging lazily across any stretch of bare skin it can reach. Paw and snout nudge at Jughead to make him move whichever way the wolf wants and the animal growls and snaps at him whenever Jughead doesn’t comply quick enough. It shoves at Jughead until he’s forced to uncurl, until he’s lying on his back again and the wolf rucks up his t-shirt with it’s cold nose and lays bare his shivering belly. Then starts to lick at that, too, hot and rough, and Jughead’s stomach clenches helplessly. One wrong move, one snap of the wolf’s jaws and it could gut him within the blink of an eye and he feels vulnerable and exposed and helpless in the worst kind of way.

Paralyzed by the prolonged state of terror, Jughead feels almost startled by the fatigue that begins to spread through him at the same time and wraps around him like cotton, pulling at his bones like weights tied to them and with every swipe of that broad, wet tongue, the world grows a little more fuzzy, loses a little more of its focus. Until eventually Jughead’s eyes slip shut and it fades out completely. He can just so hear the faint drone of voices in the distance, getting closer, words drifting over like wisps of fog. ‘They’re over there’, ‘oh, shit, hurry’, and then silence, then nothing at all.

~*~*~


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so this fic is giving me _headaches_ ahdsklghd  
> But I was kind of expecting that so, yeah... The first few chapters are always the worst, because of all the world building and setting things and characters up and whatnot. There's so much to figure out...  
> That also means it'll get better, eventually, though.
> 
> I've read over this chapter way too many times already and I'm still feeling kind of anxious about it, but I figured, if I'm not going to post it now, I might never. So here it is. I will keep the careful option open for myself of going back later and editing/change something, should I find myself with no other choice in order to make things work. But I'll definitely let you know, should that happen.
> 
> For chapter specific, slightly spoilery warnings, please see the end of chapter notes. Stay safe everyone! <3
> 
> Now, please excuse my rambling and I hope you enjoy~

~*~*~

He comes to in an unfamiliar bed feeling muddled and weak, the sun bright as it bleeds in through the closed curtains, and it takes him a moment to realize exactly where he is. As soon as Jughead does, though, he jerks upright and scrambles along the mattress until his back hits the wall the bed is pushed up against. Heart racing and panicky as he surveys the inside of Sweet Pea’s trailer. His eyes catch on Fangs and Toni, perched on a pair of folding chairs near the small kitchen area, looking at him like he just startled them out of a conversation.

The memories of last night, of the library, of the black wolf, flood back in suddenly and Jughead frantically reaches for his throat, his shoulder, his stomach, fingers tracing across skin, over his t-shirt, trying to feel for damage that isn’t there. He’s still whole for some inexplicable reason. His shoes and jacket are gone, but he’s still whole. Aside from the marks that were already there, that is, the side and the back of his neck tender and achy when the tips of his fingers brush across.

“Jughead.” Toni’s voice, soft and careful, startles Jughead out of his train of thought and he flinches, his head snapping up to see that she’s walked over to the bed. Fangs looking on from his perch on the chair, brows furrowed unhappily.

“What –“ Jughead stammers out, breathless and anxious and unable to get a handle on the mess in his head. “I was – I was in the library and there – a wolf! There was a wolf and it was huge and I thought it would kill me but it didn’t and I have no idea how I even got here. What’s _going on_? Am I losing my mind? Is that it?”

Fangs huffs in the background, sounding derisive, but Toni takes a careful seat at the edge of the bed and reaches out to pat Jughead’s knee through the covers in an attempt to be comforting. Jughead flinches away from her touch reflexively, but she doesn’t say anything about it, just pulls her hand back, sympathy shining in her eyes as she regards him. “I think we’ve got a lot to talk about.” She says mildly, her displeasure from yesterday seemingly dissipated for now. “This is going to take a bit, so we might as well get comfortable. Do you want something to eat before we start?”

At the mentions of food, Jughead’s stomach gives a loud and pitiful rumble and yeah, he really is fucking hungry, which shouldn’t come as much of a surprise after his sparse menu yesterday, but he ignores his cramping stomach for now and shakes his head ‘no’. He just wants to get this over with. He wants the world to start making sense again. He wants to go _home._ This trailer – Jughead can’t explain why, but it feels too small, like a prison cell, like he’s slowly, slowly suffocating inside of it.

“Alright.” Toni folds her hands in her lap and chews on her lower lip for a moment, like she’s trying to gather her thoughts. “I’ve never actually had to explain this stuff to anyone, so bear with me. This wasn’t exactly planned. If things had gone as they should, you never would have found out about any of it. But I guess that train’s left the station for good. What happened to you, it can’t be undone and we’re all going to have to find a way to deal with it. But for starters: Monsters are real. Magic is real. There’s a whole reality out there you don’t know about. What you grew up thinking only belonged in your nightmares actually inhabits this world alongside you. At least some of it. Me, for instance, I have a little magic in my blood. A gift from my ancestors. It’s been watered down for generations and it’s a pale shadow of what it used to be back in the old days, when the settlers hadn’t yet found this country and started to annihilate it’s people and their culture. I have ‘premonitions’, if you’d like. I sense things that might happen before they do. Not always, just when it’s really relevant to me. It’s like… a heightened sense of intuition or something.”

She pauses, giving Jughead a moment to digest her words. Jughead just gapes at her, incredulous, for a second, trying desperately to sort through the mess of his thoughts. “What are you _talking_ about? That’s not –” ‘Possible’, Jughead wants to say, head spinning, but Toni holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“I know it’s a little much, but why don’t we save the denial and the questions for after I’ve finished?” She says mildly and Jughead snaps his mouth shut and sags back against the wall, feeling drained and overwhelmed and without a clue about what to do with any of this. “Fangs here sees ghosts.” Toni goes on, one hand gesturing vaguely in Fangs’ direction, who gives Toni a look that indicates he’s not all that happy about being brought into the whole thing. But he keeps quiet and lets her speak anyway. “Or something along those lines, at least. It’s probably best, if you just ask _him_ to explain. And there are others kind of like us. On the Southside. Or at least I don’t know of anyone on the Northside, but that doesn’t have to mean anything. I’m not going to name more names, though. It’s not safe.”

“Not safe?” Jughead repeats weakly, trying to follow her words, but his head feels stuffy and slow and he’s not sure he’s processing all of this correctly.

“Yes.” Toni says with a lot more intensity and Jughead presses his back harder against the trailer’s wall. “If you blabbed about any of what I just told you to the wrong people, you could get us all _killed_. Which is why you’ll have to _swear_ that you wont say a word to _anyone_. And, I’m sorry, Jug, but we can’t let you go until we’re 100% sure that we believe you on that.”

Jughead darts out his tongue to wet dry lips and his gaze snaps automatically towards the door of the trailer. Fangs, who’s sitting right between Jughead and said door, straightens up in his chair, as if readying himself to step in should he need to and he scowls at Jughead, clearly not amused. Toni sighs and Jughead’s gaze flicks back to her. She really does look like she’s regretting what things are like at the moment, but somehow, that doesn’t make him feel all that much better about it.

“Look, at least let me finish explaining, before you try something stupid? I just want to get this over with.” Toni gives Jughead a look, like she’s expecting some kind of reaction from him, so he makes himself nod jerkily and she finally goes on. “I think you might already have a suspicion as to what Sweet Pea is. I’m going to say it anyway, though. He’s what you’d call a ‘werewolf’. Our ancestors had a different name for his kind, but like so many other things of theirs, hardly anyone remembers it. The gist is the same though. He’s bound to the moon and her cycle, half wolf, half human. There’s a lot of stuff to unpack there, believe me. But he’s _not_ a monster. He’s a person and he’s our friend. He’s _family_. And we’d die to protect each other.”

“Kill, if we have to.” Fangs chimes in and Jughead has no trouble hearing the threat in those words.

“A werewolf.” Jughead says, his voice strained. Ghosts, clairvoyance and fucking werewolves. Of course. Jughead has no idea why Fangs and Toni are doing this to him, but it’s obvious that they’re fucking with him. There is no other explanation. How the Hell is any of that supposed to sound even remotely believable? This is a total waste of his time and he needs to get out of here, needs to get home. His dad is probably worried sick by now, wondering where he is. The tiny part of himself that pauses to doubt, that whispers ‘but, what if she’s right?’, ‘how else can you explain what happened?’, he stamps down on angrily, determined to not let himself be sucked into this madness.

He tries to move, tries to scoot off of the bed, but Toni’s hand lands on his chest, pushing him back firmly and with more strength, than Jughead would have expected a person so small to be capable of. Fangs’ chair scrapes across the carpet and when Jughead’s gaze darts over to him, he’s standing, eyes hard and arms crossed in front of his chest, blocking the door with his frame. Jughead’s heart races frantically in his chest and his eyes dart around the trailer restlessly, searching for another way of escape, only to find that there is none.

“I know how this all sounds, believe me.” Toni says, trying for mild but with an edge to her voice that speaks of the steel she carries in her bones. A hard, uncompromising will Jughead’s gotten to know and respect over the course of the last couple of weeks. “You’re going to have as much time as you need to wrap your head around it, though. Like I said, you’re not going anywhere for now, not until that bite on your neck has healed enough that it can be concealed properly, at the very least. I fucking told you not go to Sweet Pea the night before last, but you’re one of the most stubborn people I know and you did anyway and both of you fucked up pretty badly.”

“I don’t know what happened exactly. Because Sweet Pea is being a child and brooding instead of talking about it, but that bite on the back of your neck, it’s a mating bite. It’s what wolves do, when they claim a partner. Once it happens, it can’t be taken back. For some reason Sweet Pea’s wolf _wants_ you and there’s a lot of complicated magic in these rituals. I’ve never seen it happen first hand, I’ve only heard about it. But from what I gather, some things are going to change for the both of you over the course of the next couple of days or weeks, depending on how quickly you can get the magic to settle. A bond is going to form that will tie the two of you together. What exactly that bond will look like, I can’t say. It’s a little different for everyone, or so it seems. And it can be a little unpleasant, the changes the magic makes you go through, it takes a toll on the body. But physical closeness is supposed to make it easier. That’s why you’re here.”

There’s another stab of pain through Jughead’s temples, another flash of staticky images, Sweet Pea’s face with those strange eyes, glowing gold as they reflect the light of the moon, over-layered by the face of the wolf, those same eyes staring down at Jughead, teeth big and sharp and deadly. The trailer, the one he’s in right now, but dark as night. Sweet Pea touching him, Sweet Pea’s teeth sinking into the back of Jughead’s neck and a rush of white-hot pleasure-pain shooting through him, a stifled sob.

Jughead shoves Toni’s shoulder hard enough to unbalance her and she falls onto the mattress with a startled ‘oompf’, then scrambles past her off of the bed, his socked feet hitting the rough carpet with a dull thud. A wave of dizziness makes him sway on shaky legs, but it doesn’t stop him, the panic fluttering in his chest is more than enough to keep him going. All he knows is that he needs to _get out of here_. Fangs takes a step towards him and makes a grab for him, but Jughead ducks past and reaches for the door, yanks it open. Sunlight and fresh air streaming in – and Sweet Pea standing tall and broad in the door way, effectively blocking it, anger bright in his dark eyes.

Sweet Pea grabs two fist-fulls of the front of Jughead’s t-shirt and roughly marches him backwards, Jughead’s feet slipping on the carpet as he scrambles to keep up, until his back hits the wall opposite the door harshly, knocking the air right out of his lungs. Sweet Pea an angry barrier of hard muscle against Jughead’s front, heat radiating off of him in waves. It feels so horribly familiar, a terrible sense of déjà-vu, and Jughead _doesn’t want this_ , whatever the Hell it is.

“Please just let me go.” Jughead blurts out, voice high and babbling in his panic, shaky hands coming up to push at Sweet Pea’s shoulders, but Sweet Pea doesn’t budge an inch, completely immovable. “I swear I won’t tell anyone, I’ll never mention a word of this. Just _let me go_.”

“Sweets.” Toni’s voice breaks through the frantic fog in Jughead’s mind, low and soothing, and one of her hands lands on Sweet Pea’s shoulder carefully. It makes Sweet Pea suck in a deep breath and let go of Jughead’s shirt, take a step back from Jughead to give him a bit of space, even though the look on his face is still pinched and angry.

Without Sweet Pea holding him up, Jughead’s legs just kind of give out and he sinks down along the wall until his ass hits the carpet and he pulls his knees up towards his chest, breathing hard and eyes stinging as he stares up at the two of them. His hands trembling as he brings them up to wipe at his cheeks. When he glances past Sweet Pea, he can see that the door to the trailer has been closed again and Fangs is standing there with his back firmly against it, the expression on his face a little shaken, but it morphs back into a scowl as soon as he catches Jughead looking at him.

Toni crouches down until she’s at the same height as Jughead and she looks at him sympathetically. “Listen, I’m sorry things went down like this. I am. None of this was supposed to happen, but it did.” She sighs and glances up at Sweet Pea, before letting her gaze return to Jughead. “And there’s nothing we can do about it now except wait it out, let things settle in their own time and then figure out how to move on from there. We’re going to give you and Sweet Pea some time alone now. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to talk about. Try not to fight it. That’ll only make things harder on the both of you. We’ll come back to check in on you tomorrow.”

With that, Toni straightens up again and gets to her feet. Jughead wants to scramble after her, beg her to stay, to not leave him here like this, but his voice gets stuck in his throat as it closes up and his limbs won’t move the way he needs them to. Toni gives Sweet Pea another look. “He needs to eat something.” She says, her voice stern. Then she turns towards Fangs, who steps away from the door and holds it open for her. Before she leaves the trailer, though, she turns back towards Jughead one last time. “Don’t worry about your dad, by the way. As far as he’s concerned, you’re out on a little camping trip up at sweet water river over the weekend with a couple of the younger Serpents. Anything after that we’ll figure out, when we need to.”

Then she’s gone and Fangs steps out of the trailer after her, carefully closing the door behind the both of them. It’s like the bars of a prison cell sliding into place and Jughead can’t help but feel as thought he air in the tiny space of the trailer grows thicker with it, an itchy sense of claustrophobia settling in. Sweet Pea stands there glaring at the closed door for a moment, face pulled into a deep frown, then huffs out an angry breath and stalks over to his kitchen cabinets, doors clanging as he roughly pulls out a plate and cutlery and what looks like the makings of a sandwich.

Jughead sits there staring at Sweet Pea’s back as he works, frozen to the spot. His gaze keeps slipping over to the trailer’s door, unguarded and unlocked. But for some reason, Jughead doesn’t think that Sweet Pea would have any trouble stopping him long before he’d even reach it. And Jughead doesn’t think he’d be well advised to risk it, if he isn’t sure he’ll make it, not with no-one there to step in, if Sweet Pea gets angry again. That thought makes Jughead’s stomach clench tightly around nothing, around the hunger sitting there like an ache and he can’t help the way his eyes slide back over to the food Sweet Pea’s handling roughly.

After putting all of the stuff he’d used to make it away again, Sweet Pea walks over with the finished sandwich and shoves the plate wordlessly at Jughead, who hurries to take it from Sweet Pea, before the sandwich can slide off of the plate and to the floor. His stomach grumbles miserably and Jughead takes one of the halves with unsteady hands and bites into it quickly. He can hardly taste it, doesn’t care what it is, as long as it’s food, because he knows he needs this, if he wants to be able to function. If he wants to have a chance to get out of this, he’s going to need to do what he has to to keep himself going.

Sweet Pea just stands there and watches as Jughead inhales his food, hardly pausing to chew unless he has to, his stomach complaining at the treatment, but accepting its fate and starting to digest anyway. Accustomed to having to work with what it can get. As soon as Jughead’s finished, Sweet Pea takes the plate from him and sets it down in the sink, then walks back over to Jughead, reaches out a hand to circle one of Jughead’s wrists with strong fingers and uses that to pull Jughead to his feet. The grip is too tight, the bones in his wrist grinding together painfully and Jughead makes a sound at the back of his throat, something like a whimper, and immediately hates himself for it.

He’s no stranger to people being rough with him. His dad has never had the softest touch, even though Jughead knows any hurt inflicted was never intentional, just the product of a short temper made worse by throwing too much alcohol into the mix. And he’s been bullied for almost as long as he’s been attending school on top of that. He knows he can take a punch or ten. He in no way enjoys it, he’s not a fucking masochist, but he knows he’ll live despite the pain. This though, this feels different and Jughead has no control over what it does to him. He can’t help the way he wants nothing more than to shrink back from Sweet Pea, to get away from his touch, because even that small point of contact feels like too much.

Intrusive and personal and Jughead _doesn’t want any of it_. “Let go of me.” He presses out through clenched teeth, forcing himself to look up at Sweet Pea, to meet his sullen gaze. It’s supposed to sound like a demand, but it comes out more like a plea and Jughead hates that, too, viciously so.

There’s something about that touch that makes his skin crawl, a strange sort of heat seeping into his skin at the point of contact and spreading outwards from there, invasive in a way he can’t explain. It makes the bite mark on the back of his neck throb and burn and Jughead pulls in a startled gasp. Sweet Pea narrows his eyes at Jughead and Sweet Pea raises his free hand to Jughead’s neck to cover the bite mark with his palm. A flare of heat shoots through Jughead, outwards from the point of contact, so intense it fucking _hurts_ and it catches him by surprise, makes him yelp and jerk away, the back of his head connecting painfully with the trailer’s wall.

Sweet Pea pulls his hands away a look of surprise flitting across his features only to be replaced by anger a moment later. “It’s not supposed to hurt.” He says, sounding accusing, like it’s Jughead’s fault or somehow. Jughead can feel a slightly hysterical laugh bubble up his throat and he doesn’t quite manage to suppress it. Maybe he’s just finally reached the end of his rope, maybe this is the point, where he just fucking loses it or something.

“I don’t even know what any of _this_ is!” Jughead bites back, breathing hard, hands cutting through the air jerkily. “Am I really supposed to believe all of that stuff Toni just told me? About _magic_ and _ghosts_ and that you’re what? A fucking _werewolf_?”

“Say that any louder, will you?” Sweet Pea hisses at him and Jughead inches sideways along the wall, away from him until the side of Jughead’s knee hits the frame of the bed and he can’t go any further. Sweet Pea just stalks after him, hands balled into fists at his sides, head tilted like a predator regarding a particularly annoying bit of prey. “Tell me it’s still that implausible after everything you’ve seen during the last two days. But of course you’d be fucking stubborn about this. You’re one of the most hardheaded, arrogant, self-absorbed people I know. And that’s not exactly my fault.”

“Not your fault?” Jughead bites back, his blood rushing loudly in his ears, his heart racing and his hands shaking. “You did – I don’t know – _something_ to me! You –“

But that’s as far as Jughead gets, a wave of dizziness overtaking him, making him stagger and his knees fold of their own volition, the air too thin to fill his lungs properly and Sweet Pea darts forward, quicker than should be humanly possible, and catches Jughead in his arms before he can hit the floor. The sandwich he just ate sits like a stone in his stomach and he feels nausea rise again as Sweet Pea lifts him up and helps him sit on the bed and he’s shaking so bad he doesn’t even know anymore.

“You need to fucking calm down.” Sweet Pea snaps at him, one hand moving to Jughead’s fluttering chest, palm broad and fingers spread wide, and he pushes Jughead backwards until Jughead drops to the mattress on his back, his head spinning with the sudden sense of vertigo. Sweet Pea climbs onto the bed after Jughead, pulls and pushes at Jughead like he’s a fucking puppet that Sweet Pea can manipulate whichever way he pleases, not exactly trying to be gentle about it. Until Jughead’s lying on his side and Sweet Pea can spoon up behind him, Sweet Pea’s arms wrapping around Jughead’s chest and pulling him close. Jughead jerks, when Sweet Pea’s lips brush his nape and then Sweet Pea opens his mouth and clasps his teeth over the back of Jughead’s neck, right where the bite mark is, and starts to apply pressure.

Jughead’s heart is racing like his chest is about to explode and it keeps on building up, the air around him feeling charged and electric and when Sweet Pea’s teeth digging into his skin really start to hurt there’s a sudden shift in the atmosphere, a weird kind of ‘plop’ and everything just suddenly… fades. Jughead’s body goes limp in Sweet Pea’s arms, the tension seeping out like water out of a tub once the plug has been pulled, his heartbeat and his breathing begin to slow down and an eerie sort of calm lulls him in like a warm blanket.

He feels dazed with it, almost like he’s floating, the endorphins rushing through his blood in a pleasant buzz. Sweet Pea hums against the back of his neck, his tongue darting out to lap at the skin caught between his teeth and a weird sort of heat seeps into the mix, making Jughead gasp softly. This is all wrong, a panicky little voice at the back of his brain tries to tell him, but he’s too addled to really have it come through, too docile to be gripped and pulled in by that panic. One of Sweet Pea’s hands starts to stroke lazily up and down Jughead’s arm and the touch sends a shiver along his spine, soft hairs raising in its wake.

When Sweet Pea finally loosens his jaw and his teeth leave Jughead’s nape only to be replaced by his lips, grazing the bite mark softly, the immediate rush of calm loses a bit of its intensity, but the fuzziness lingers. Jughead feels like he’s been reduced to a guest in his own body, everything seems kind of vague and his limbs are sluggish to respond when he tries to move. Sweet Pea’s hand comes up to cradle Jughead’s jaw, to make Jughead turn until Sweet Pea can lean in and kiss him, slow and lazy and hot.

Jughead whines against Sweet Pea’s mouth, his lips tingling and that same heat taking root beneath his skin again, spreading out slowly. Sweet Pea is a solid line of warmth all along his back and Jughead can feel the contented hum that rumbles through Sweet Pea’s chest. Pushing at Jughead’s shoulders, Sweet Pea pulls away from the kiss and makes Jughead roll over until he’s lying supine on the covers of the bed, Sweet Pea looming over him with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. He leans back in to kiss a wet trail along the line of Jughead’s jaw, down to the side of his neck where the second bite mark is a tender bruise on Jughead’s skin.

Jughead shudders at the ticklish feeling, screws his eyes shut and desperately tries to fight through the fog in his head, the cotton in his limbs, but it doesn’t work and he’s left panting and helpless as Sweet Pea starts to ruck up his t-shirt, exposing his belly and dragging a wide palm across the soft stretch of skin. Making Jughead hyper aware of how vulnerable he is. “I don’t want this.” Jughead makes himself say, shocked at how weak and slurred the words sound coming from his lips, but he _has_ to.

“Liar.” Sweet Pea breathes against the shell of Jughead’s ear hotly, teasing, and then lets his hand slip lower until he’s cupping Jughead through his jeans, where he’s half hard despite himself and Jughead sucks in a sharp breath at the feel of it. “I know that you want me. I’ve seen you looking when you didn’t think I’d notice. I can smell it on you. You think you’re so subtle about it, but it’s pretty fucking hard to fool a werewolf’s senses. And I want you, too. So where’s the problem? Besides, this is your fault. If you hadn’t been _arrogant_ enough to come to my trailer like that, when I was trying to keep away for _your_ sake, none of this would have happened. It’s too late to cry about it now. You’ll get used to it, once you stop fighting it. And the physical contact will make the bond settle faster, you’ll feel better.”

Jughead feels blindsided by Sweet Pea’s blatant dismissal, by his absolute disregard of what he’s doing to Jughead and he wants to _say_ these things, wants to put them into words, but he can’t. He can’t sort through his muddled thoughts, no matter how hard he tries, can’t find the words to explain why it doesn’t matter whether or not he thinks Sweet Pea is hot, why the only thing that should hold any weight here is whether or not Jughead has given his consent to this. And then Sweet Pea pulls Jughead’s t-shirt roughly up over his head and off of his arms, Jughead’s beanie getting dislocated in the process, and his thoughts scatter like a swarm of startled birds taking flight. Sweet Pea runs his hands up Jughead’s sides and bends low to work his mouth across Jughead’s chest, rising and falling too quickly with Jughead’s speeding breaths.

It feels wrong, the way Sweet Pea’s touching him, Jughead _knows_ that it is, but it also feels good for some reason he can’t explain. And he _tries_ , but he can’t stop it. Not the way his breath hitches when Sweet Pea’s tongue darts out to lap at his skin, not the way electricity shoots up his spine, making him whine, when Sweet Pea’s thumbs brush his nipples a little too roughly, not the way his stomach flutters helplessly when Sweet Pea’s mouth moves lower. Jughead reaches for Sweet Pea’s shoulders, slow and clumsy, with the intention of pushing him away, of making him stop, but Sweet Pea just hums against Jughead’s belly as Jughead’s fingers dig into his muscles through his shirt, not perturbed at all.

Sweet Pea uses his hands on Jughead’s waist to hold him still, dips his tongue into Jughead’s bellybutton, hot and slick, and Jughead jerks in his grip, pulling in a shuddering breath. Jughead can feel himself grow harder, unable to fight the sensations that seem so overwhelming and by the time Sweet Pea noses lazily along the soft trail of dark hair that leads down to and disappears beneath the waistband of Jughead’s jeans, Jughead is straining against his zipper, breathing hard and heat pooling low in his belly. He really is a puppet, a part of him thinks despairingly, all control over what he’s feeling, over his body’s reactions stripped away from him.

It’s one of the most terrifying things Jughead’s ever lived through, this feeling of being absolutely powerless. The sting of tears in his eyes is the one thing Jughead doesn’t try to fight. Because it’s the only thing that makes sense right now. Sweet Pea tugs at Jughead’s belt with rough hands, pops the button on Jughead’s jeans and pulls down the zipper. Hooks his fingers into the waistband of Jughead’s boxers and starts to pull them down together with his jeans, Sweet Pea’s mouth trailing along the skin that’s being exposed, ticklish and hot and it makes Jughead gasp and screw his eyes shut helplessly, trying and failing to block it out.

Sweet Pea’s fingers brush over the bruises on Jughead’s hip as they’re revealed and Jughead can feel Sweet Pea’s self-satisfied grin pressed into the skin low on Jughead’s belly, can hear the content growl, darkly possessive. Sweet Pea leans back and makes Jughead lift his hips so that Sweet Pea can drag his jeans and boxers down his thighs, his calves, and off. Jughead awkwardly reaches out to try and stop him, a high-pitched sound of distress stuck in his throat, but Sweet Pea brushes his weak attempt aside easily and instead goes to peal Jughead’s socks off, too, one after the other until Jughead is lying on the covers of Sweet Pea’s bed completely naked, his dick curving towards his navel, the tip sticky with precome.

A flush rises up into Jughead’s face and creeps down towards his chest at the way Sweet Pea takes him in with dark eyes, a hint of something strange glinting just beneath the surface, almost like a golden glow. A mix of anger and shame and fear takes hold of Jughead, all of it tangling strangely with the arousal that’s so very evident until Jughead feels dizzy with it. Sweet Pea slips off of the bed to pull impatiently at his own clothes, sheds them hurriedly and thoughtlessly, his gaze never leaving Jughead once. Jughead pulls up his legs, angling them at the knees and presses them together in an attempt to cover himself, his arms slipping clumsily on the blanket as he tries to lift himself up onto his elbows and fails.

Sweet Pea is big and every inch of skin carelessly revealed shows more muscle, hard and well defined and imposing and it’s so obvious that Jughead wouldn’t stand a chance against him, even if he were all there and a horrible sort of hopelessness comes attached to that thought, threatening to overtake. Jughead pushes down on it frantically, pushes down on the thought of how he might have liked seeing Sweet Pea this way in a different reality where things are different, where he’s here of his own volition.

Of how he’d felt that strange, frustration fueled attraction towards Sweet Pea grow, but pledged to it ignore it because their dynamic was just too weird and competitive for that to make sense and he didn’t want to admit to liking someone, who regularly made got Jughead so worked up he wanted nothing more than to sock them in the face. His breathing comes too quickly as Sweet Pea steps back up to the bed, towering over Jughead. Naked now and Jughead tries not to look, but his eyes get drawn to the dark nest of curls between Sweet Pea’s strong thighs anyway. To a hard, flushed dick, big like the rest of him, the tip weirdly shaped, pointier than normal, and a slight bulge at the base that shouldn’t be there.

Head spinning, Jughead tries to scoot away, but he doesn’t get very far before Sweet Pea is on the mattress again, crawling up to him, something dark and dangerous in his eyes as they find Jughead’s, the inexplicable glow in them growing stronger, and he pushes Jughead’s legs apart carelessly so that he can settle in between. He sinks down onto Jughead until their dicks brush against Jughead’s stomach, a rush of sparks shooting through Jughead’s blood, the unwanted heat pooling low in his belly rising higher. Jughead gasps at how good that contact feels, at how it rushes through his veins and tingles in the tips of his fingers and he hates it so, so much. Sweet Pea’s body pressed up against his, naked skin to naked skin and heat blooming everywhere they touch.

Sweet Pea’s hands leave tingling goosebumps in their wake as they brush along Jughead’s hips, the undersides of his thighs, floods of sensation, and Jughead’s feels like he’s drowning slowly. Sweet Pea moves his hips against Jughead’s, their hard dicks sliding together easily. Jughead is leaking, pre-come pooling on his belly and he feels overheated and overwhelmed, his hands sliding along the wall of the trailer behind his head, clumsily trying to find something to hold onto, to ground himself with and failing. Sweet Pea smirks down at him, at the way Jughead squirms beneath him helplessly and his eyes are glowing as he sticks two of his fingers into his mouth and coats them with spit.

He’s either drugged or hallucinating, Jughead thinks desperately, because this isn’t right, this can’t be _real_ , but his mind scatters just seconds after, when Sweet Pea brings his glistening fingers down and around until he’s brushing against Jughead’s rim. And when Sweet Pea starts to apply pressure and the first finger slips in, it’s so easy, so much easier than it should be. Jughead’s body docile and pliant just opens up to Sweet Pea like it’s nothing. And it feels so good, too, Sweet Pea fucking that thick finger of his into Jughead, but at the same time it makes Jughead feel sick to his stomach. Jughead gasps out fractured little ‘ah’s with every thrust, his head pressed back into the covers and his fingernails sliding along the trailer’s wall helplessly, nerve endings lighting up every which way and sending too many signals at once, too much sensation to be processed correctly.

Sweet Pea’s free hand comes up and gathers Jughead’s wrists in it’s grip, pulls his hands away from the wall and presses them into the mattress above Jughead’s head, making Jughead strain against the hold that he finds to be utterly immovable. Sweet Pea’s face hovers above Jughead’s, hot puffs of breath gusting across Jughead’s mouth and then Sweet Pea leans down to kiss him again, at the same time shoving a second finger into Jughead and scissoring them, stretching Jughead until he whines into the kiss and vainly tries to pull his hips away. Sweet Pea’s fingers graze Jughead’s prostate and somehow that’s all it takes to make him fall apart, Jughead’s dick pulsing and pleasure searing up his spine as he comes, thick ropes of milky white shooting across his stomach, some of it landing on Sweet Pea’s as well.

Jughead twitches and moans into the kiss, lost to the aftershocks of his orgasm as Sweet Pea’s fingers keep finding that spot inside of him, the feeling too much. Sweet Pea’s dick brushing against his almost painful it’s so intense and Jughead sobs against Sweet Pea’s lips until Sweet Pea pulls his fingers out and cants his hips back enough to give Jughead some respite. Jughead just lies there, boneless and drained, his skin sweat slick and flushed, feeling overheated as he tries to catch his breath, blood rushing loudly in his ears.

Sweet Pea smirks down at Jughead, taking in the sight of him, then leans down and licks a long, hot stripe up Jughead’s stomach, gathering up the the white streaks of Jughead’s come as he goes. Jughead shudders and gasps at the feeling, but Sweet Pea just hums and does it again, then again, until Jughead’s stomach is cleaned off completely. Sweet Pea leans in to kiss Jughead, his lips slick against Jughead’s and his tongue shoving into Jughead’s mouth, the taste of salt and bitterness thick on it and Jughead makes a choked off sound in the back of his throat. He’s never done anything like this before. Not even close. Some very enthusiastic making out with Betty, before she broke things off with him, but nothing like this.

Before he has too much time to think about that, to get sucked down that spiral of despair, Sweet Pea lets go of his wrists and pulls away from the kiss, the taste of himself fading on Jughead’s tongue. Instead hooking his arms under Jughead’s knees, Sweet Pea leans forward until Jughead’s legs are draped over Sweet Pea’s shoulders and Jughead’s almost folded in half, his hips lifting off of the mattress. The tip of Sweet Pea’s dick crowds eagerly against Jughead’s ass and Jughead’s sucks in a startled breath.

He wants to protest, but Sweet Pea’s already thrusting forward, the head of his dick sliding into Jughead, thick and puffy, and the words die on Jughead’s tongue, replaced by a drawn out moan. Jughead’s body, loose and fucked out, opens up to Sweet Pea like that’s what it was made to do, no matter how big Sweet Pea is, how impossible it feels. Sweet Pea is thick and so, so hot as he pushes into Jughead and Jughead’s breath gets stuck in his throat at the way Sweet Pea just keeps going and, oh, that’s not – Jughead can’t – it’s _too much_ , he’s too full, and he –. Jughead whines, tears stinging at his eyes and his hands slap onto Sweet Pea’s thighs, fingers digging in and clutching at the thick muscles, trying to keep him back, to halt his movement, but Sweet Pea doesn’t even seem to notice, his face scrunched up in concentration as he thrusts forward.

Something catches at Jughead’s rim, something thicker than the rest of Sweet Pea’s dick and for a moment Jughead thinks this is where Sweet Pea will stop, this is as far as it can go, but instead Sweet Pea just pushes harder until the swelling pops in, too and Jughead can’t hold back the yelp that rises up his throat at that. It feels a little like having a golf ball shoved up his ass, it presses too harshly against his prostate and it _hurts_ , a burning ache inside of him, but the pleasure that sparks into the mix anyway makes Jughead’s vision swim and his pulse race frantically.

All he can do is hang on for dear life as Sweet Pea starts to thrust, that weird shape at the base of his dick catching painfully at Jughead’s rim on every in and out motion and Jughead sobs along with it, unable to cope with the overwhelming sensation. Sweet Pea’s hands come up to bracket Jughead’s face, his thumbs disturbing the tear tracks on Jughead’s cheeks, fingers sliding into Jughead’s hair and, moaning deep in his throat, Sweet Pea leans in to kiss him him, sloppy and needy and possessive. It’s more like panting into each others mouths, sharing breath from one pair of lungs into another and the pleasure that spreads through Jughead’s stomach is white-hot and consuming and he squeezes his eyes shut helplessly.

Impossibly, the shape at the base of Sweet Pea’s dick keeps growing, every thrust a little harder to take, a little more painful, a little more overwhelming and for some inexplicable reason the pleasure flares up along with it, these two sensations that clash so badly, that intertwine until they’re one and the same thing. Jughead cries out, when Sweet Pea shoves in one last time and then goes still inside of Jughead, a moan that sounds more like a growl rumbling through his chest as he comes and that weird swelling grows inside of Jughead until he’s convinced his body can’t take it anymore and then it just stops, right there at the edge of impossible.

Something hot and wet floods Jughead as Sweet Pea’s dick pulses inside of him, the swelling pressing up against Jughead’s prostate and that’s all it takes for Jughead to tumble over the edge, as well. A weak spurt of come dribbling from the tip of his dick as his orgasm rushes through him. Wave after wave, the pressure unrelenting and chasing fizzling sparks across his skin until the tips of his fingers feel numb where they’re digging crescent shaped grooves into Sweet Pea’s thighs and he’s fighting for breath so hard it feels like his chest might break under the strain.

Jughead doesn’t even realize he’s lost consciousness, until he slowly comes back to himself, the world swimming precariously before his eyes. His face is burning up and his hair a sweaty mess, sticking to his forehead, to the back of his neck, his limbs leaden and ungainly and Sweet Pea is still inside of him, that swelling at the base of his dick, and it fucking hurts. Jughead tries desperately to breath through it, his teeth clenched and his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line, fresh tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

“Shh.” Sweet Pea whispers against Jughead’s temple, Jughead’s face still cradled in his hands, and he darts out his tongue to lick at the salt of Jughead’s tears where they’re sliding into his hair. “You’re doing so good. You’re mine and your body already knows it. Don’t fight it. Just let it happen. You’ll get used to it, you’ll adjust and it’ll get much easier.”

Jughead hiccups out a sob at the words. He feels dizzy and feverish, he’s in pain and there’s no way this is ever going to get any easier, he doesn’t fucking want it to, he wants it to _stop_. Sweet Pea tilts Jughead’s head up with his hands, trails his tongue down to Jughead’s arched neck, traces the movement of Jughead’s bobbing Adam’s apple with it, then presses his nose into the soft spot just underneath Jughead’s ear and inhales deeply. Sweet Pea’s hips shift, the swelling pulling at Jughead’s rim and sending a jolt up his spine and Jughead keens softly, his breath hitching and his fingers tightening on Sweet Pea’s thighs until Sweet Pea goes still again.

Jughead doesn’t know how long it lasts, the concept of time growing fuzzy and distant, as Sweet Pea lazily maps out Jughead’s body with his broad hands, palms sliding over every inch of skin he can reach, up and down Jughead’s heaving flanks as if he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. And all Jughead can do is desperately try to fight through it, to breath around the pain, to keep himself as still and as loose as he can, helplessly pushing down on the reflex to fight the intrusion and make it so much worse. But after a while, the swelling at the base of Sweet Pea’s dick slowly begins to go down, until, finally, Sweet Pea’s dick slips out of Jughead and Sweet Pea rolls off of him and drops down onto the mattress next to Jughead.

A strange sort of emptiness and a deep ache inside of Jughead stay behind, something that snakes through his belly, that makes him hiss in a breath when he clenches down around nothing and the ache spreads out into the base of his thighs. That same feeling, that same soreness he couldn’t explain when he woke up yesterday and that strangeness that he’s been carrying around in his chest since, that alien sensation, it swells and reaches outward. First as a soft sort of warmth, but then it twists back on itself and it goes cold and vile and the wrongness of it makes Jughead feel nauseous. Something wet and sticky slowly starts to trickle out of him and onto the covers beneath him, gross and wrong.

Sweet Pea reaches out a palm and presses it onto Jughead’s stomach, just beneath his fluttering heart, where the strangeness sits, the thing that shouldn’t be there, and it makes Jughead’s skin crawl the way that strangeness seams to be reaching for Sweet Pea’s touch, straining towards it. “Don’t.” Jughead gasps out and shoves Sweet Pea’s hand away. Sweet Pea pushes up onto one elbow and frowns down at Jughead.

“You should be feeling better.” Sweet Pea says, sounding almost accusing, like the fact that he’s _not_ is somehow Jughead’s fault. A laugh bubbles up in Jughead’s throat and the sound of it scares him a little. He can’t take lying there like that with Sweet Pea anymore and he heaves himself up on shaky limbs, wincing at the pain that shoots up his spine, at the way it aggravates the tenderness inside of him, but it’s still better than just doing nothing. Than this passiveness that feels like a noose around his neck.

He slips off of the bed and stands on unsteady legs, swaying on his feet as dizziness threatens to overtake, but he bats Sweet Pea’s hand away, when Sweet Pea tries to reach out and steady him, pressing a palm against the wall to hold himself up instead, too out of it to be surprised about the fact that Sweet Pea lets him get away with it. There’s only one door in the trailer aside form the entrance door and it’s not that hard to figure out that that has to be the bathroom. It’s just a few steps away, like almost everything in the tiny space and Jughead shuffles there awkwardly, his teeth clenched against the way moving hurts. Slips inside and pulls it closed after himself before Sweet Pea can stop him. Then spends a moment leaning back against the door, his heart racing as he waits for Sweet Pea to come after him, but nothing happens.

And that’s when the latent nausea that’s been sitting in his gut for much too long surges up again, his stomach cramping with it, and he sinks to his knees in a rush in front of the toilet, hitting them too hard on the linoleum. Then bends over and heaves, acid burning up his throat and across his tongue thick and vicious. At least it finally gets rid of the aftertaste of his own come in his mouth, Jughead thinks a little hysterically as he heaves. Once he’s done, Jughead grabs a wad of toilet paper and wipes at his mouth shakily.

It comes away with black smudges on it and Jughead frowns, put off. When he glances into the bowl of the toilet, there are black streaks twisting through the former contents of his stomach, dark and viscous like tar, just a few, but that’s clearly not fucking normal. Feeling lightheaded and unable to deal with that right now, Jughead grabs for the sink and heaves himself up, tosses the toilet paper into the mix and then flushes it all down. Just one _more_ thing he can’t fucking explain.

His skin is crawling and there’s come trickling stickily down the insides of his thighs and all he knows is that he needs to get rid of it, now. Jughead reaches for the lock on the door and twists it, listens to it click shut. He knows that it’s not enough to keep anyone out, not with how thin the walls are, with how the door is more of a joke, than not, but he needs this, he needs to at least be able to pretend like he’s going to be safe for a moment. The bathroom itself is as tiny and cramped as the rest of the trailer. It’s got just about enough space for him to stand in between the toilet, the sink and the shower and Jughead pulls back the curtain and steps into the shower, wincing at the ache in his thighs.

He turns on the spray and sets the temperature to as hot as he can take and then gets to scrubbing. The only thing Sweet Pea has is a bar of unscented soap, but that’s just fine because at least Jughead doesn’t have to worry about smelling like him after he’s done. He reaches back between his legs, keeping his mind as blank as he can while he cleans himself up. He’s sore and it stings, when he touches himself, aches like a fresh bruise inside, but it doesn’t seem like there’s any real damage. The thought should make him feel better, but it really doesn’t.

Jughead stays under the spray of the shower until his skin feels raw from all of the scrubbing and the water slowly begins to run cold, trying so hard not to think about the fact that he’ll have to leave the bathroom eventually. But, when the water turns icy and his teeth begin to chatter, Jughead has to finally turn it off and step out of the shower. There’s one towel on a hanger next to the shower, but that’s Sweet Pea’s and he really doesn’t want to use it, so Jughead pulls open the tiny cabinet underneath the sink to find two fresh ones, one of which he takes for himself. It’s a valiant effort to feel less stained, but it hardly helps.

After he’s dried himself off as thoroughly as humanly possible, the towel wrapped firmly around his waist, Jughead sinks down onto the closed lid of the toilet, having run out of tasks that need to be handled, having run out of things to keep him going. He feels so drained, sick to his stomach, like he might throw up again, if there were anything left _to_ chuck up at all. Slouching back against the wall to take some of his weight off of his ass, Jughead sits quietly and listens. There’s the dampened sound of someone moving around in the trailer, of the clinging and clanging of utensils, of sizzling and the faint scent of frying eggs and bacon wafting in through the slits between the door and its frame and Jughead realizes that Sweet Pea is _cooking_.

Of all of the things… It’s such a mundane task and it clashes so badly with how _not_ mundane the things were that just happened to him and it kind of makes everything bubble over again. He chokes off a sob and brings his palms up to press their bases against his eyes, trying and failing to hold back the wetness, unable to shake the feeling that he’s losing his fucking mind. Jughead needs to pull himself together, he needs to keep himself going. If he wants to hold onto any hope at all of getting out of this, then he needs to stay sharp and strong and not let himself break. He’s still got options, he just needs to wait for the right moment, until Sweet Pea stops paying attention, until he’s got the element of surprise on his side. Sweet Pea has to sleep _sometime_.

Jughead just needs to be patient and hold out and wait for his chance, he can do that much, he tells himself vehemently. His trailer, his _dad_ , is just across the lot, at the other side of the trailer park and there are so many people in between, who’d just by their presence make it impossible for Sweet Pea to come after him. As soon as he manages to get out of this trailer, he’s made it, that’s all he has to do. And he will, he fucking will. He can figure out what the fuck is going on with all of this, why Toni, Fangs and Sweet Pea would lie to him like that and how to explain the fucked up things he’s been seeing ad feeling, after that.

So he musters all of the strength he can and pulls himself back together, swallows down the well of tears and wipes at his eyes until the wetness is gone, pulls in breath, after breath until he’s no longer shaking and then pushes up off of the toilet. His hand is unsteady as he unlocks the door, but he can’t help that and he ignores it, steels himself before pulling the door open and walking back out into the trailer. Sweet Pea is standing by the small stove fully dressed and handling a pan, his gaze darting over to Jughead, the frown from before deepening as he takes Jughead in.

Sweet Pea got what he wanted for now, which has to mean that he’ll leave Jughead alone for the time being, Jughead tries to tell himself to slow down his frantically racing heart, but he can’t fight the urge to press his back up against the wall as he scans the area around the bed for his clothes. To his surprise, they’re layed out neatly across the covers and Jughead reaches for them jerkily, trying his best to ignore the feeling of Sweet Pea’s eyes on him as he gets dressed as quickly as he can the way he’s still hurting. It’s gotten better, the shower did help, but it’s still there and every twinge of discomfort has his breath hitching and his chest pulling so tight it gets hard to keep his lungs working.

But he feels a little better once he’s fully clothed again and he’s pulled his beanie over his hair, all the way down to cover his ears, the soft, worn wool familiar and comforting under his fingers and he clings to that as hard as he can. He just leaves the towel in a heap on the floor, uncaring of whether Sweet Pea has a fucking problem with that or not. There’s the sound of more puttering and Jughead snaps his gaze up to find Sweet Pea loading two big plates with eggs, bacon and toast, the scent of the food filling up the small space easily and Jughead’s stomach rumbles and clenches dubiously at it. Sweet Pea sets the two plates down on a small, round table in the far corner of the trailer, then drags the two folding chairs Fangs and Toni had been sitting on earlier back over to it.

Without turning to look at Jughead again, Sweet Pea drops down into one of the chairs, grabs his fork and starts eating. Jughead’s stomach gives a another weak grumble around the emptiness and the nausea that has dimmed down to a more manageable level. He’s hungry, despite everything. He eyes Sweet Pea with his back turned to Jughead, eyes the food Sweet Pea has set up for him, the empty chair, the door to the trailer right between himself and Sweet Pea, his heart rate picking up. Jughead darts out his tongue to wet dry lips and moves forward carefully.

“Don’t even fucking think about it.” Sweet Pea growls without so much as turning his head and Jughead freezes in reaching for the door handle, his breath getting stuck in his throat. Sweet Pea sighs and carefully sets down his fork, straightens up in his seat, and Jughead can see the threat in those motions clear as day. His hand balling into a tightly furled fist, Jughead pulls it back from the door, the movement taking so much more willpower than it should, but he doesn’t have a choice, he can’t risk it, not now, even if that makes him a fucking coward.

His stomach growls again, more loudly this time, and Sweet Pea snorts and picks his fork back up. “Eat.” He says, like Jughead is a dog he can just order around however he pleases and there’s no doubt in Sweet Pea’s mind that he’ll be obeyed. Jughead’s hackles raise at that, at Sweet Pea’s tone of voice, the condescension in it, and he wants to be contrary and vile just to spite Sweet Pea. But the truth is, if he’s going to keep his strength up and have a real chance of getting out of this, then he’s going to need the food.

So Jughead swallows his pride and tries not to choke on it as he makes his slow, cautious way over to the table, pulls the free chair around so that it’s as far away from Sweet Pea, as it can get and then takes a seat, the hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably. It feels so surreal to sit here with Sweet Pea like this, after what just – Jughead stops himself before he can finish the thought, pushes it back down violently and tries to keep his mind blank as he picks up his fork and starts to load it with scrambled eggs. Sweet Pea glances at him out of the corner of his eyes, then suddenly pushes up out of his chair and Jughead startles so badly he almost drops his fork, it’s contents scattering all over his plate.

Sweet Pea just frowns at him, then turns his back on Jughead and steps over to the kitchen cabinets, opens one and pulls two glasses out. He brings them over to the mini-fridge, digs out a container of what looks like orange juice and fills the glasses, before taking them and walking back over, setting one down next to Jughead’s plate and the other next to his own. Jughead is a solid line of tension in his chair, his pulse racing as he tries and fails to calm himself back down.

Sweet Pea takes a seat and reaches for his fork. Halts in the middle of the motion, his hands dropping down into his lap as he sighs, heavy with frustration. Too quickly for Jughead to even realize what’s happening before it’s too late, Sweet Pea grabs the wrist of the hand Jughead has resting on the table closest to him, roughly pressing it down against the table top to hold Jughead still and reaches out with his other hand to clasp the back of Jughead’s neck. Jughead jerks in his grip, badly enough that he almost knocks over the table with his knees and some of the orange juice spills from the glasses, leaving yellow puddles on the white plastic table top.

That same heat starts to build up at the back of Jughead’s neck, like the first time Sweet Pea touched him there, until it becomes painful. Jughead gasps and pulls at Sweet Pea’s hold, but Sweet Pea’s hands on him are like bands of steel and he gets nowhere at all. Annoyed confusion written all over Sweet Pea’s face, he tightens his grip on Jughead’s nape, his thumb pressing down against the scabs his teeth left behind and with that pressure, the heat starts to lose some of it’s severity and it no longer feels like Sweet Pea is pressing a branding iron to Jughead’s skin.

Heart racing in his throat and panting frantically, Jughead feels warmth and calm begin to spread out from the touch slowly, the same way it had just a little while ago, when Sweet Pea had dragged him onto the bed. His first instinct is to fight it and Jughead does, his skin crawling as that strange warmth feeds into the wrongness settled in his chest, makes it twist and expand and at the same time, but he can feel himself get drowsy and tired despite himself. His heart rate and his breathing slowing down gradually, the panic fading with it, no matter how hard Jughead tries to hold onto it.

“You need to calm the fuck down.” Sweet Pea says, sounding a little strained, his eyes dark and dangerous, that strange glow lighting them up from the inside like candles behind amber colored stained glass, when he finally lets his hand drop away from Jughead’s nape. “You smell like pray, when you’re scared.”

Jughead swallows thickly and pulls his hand away as soon as Sweet Pea lets go of his wrist, his eyes glued firmly to the table top in front of him, to his plate laden with food. He feels dazed and nauseous at the same time, his thoughts having gone muddled and slow. ‘Wrong, wrong, wrong’, that fearful, frantic little voice at the back of his mind chants, but to no avail, unable to pierce through the fog.

“You need to eat.” Sweet Pea grumbles next to him. His voice sounds softer now, less fraught with tension, but still strangely puzzled. “And then sleep. You’ll be tired for a while. Your body needs the rest so that it can adjust.”

As if on autopilot, Jughead picks up his fork and starts to shovel food into his mouth, chewing and swallowing mechanically. A puppet going through the motions, because that’s what he’s been told. Because that’s what Sweet Pea wants him to do. He doesn’t even register the taste of the food, he knows it’s there, but far away, like a blanket of heavy fog has been wrapped around him and he’s perceiving everything through it. Apparently satisfied, Sweet Pea starts to work on the contents of his own plate again, sipping at his orange juice in between bites and ignoring the spill. It’s going to dry and get sticky and bothersome, Jughead thinks dazedly, but he can’t bring himself to care enough to do anything about it.

Once his plate is empty and his stomach full, Jughead picks up his own juice, or what’s left of it at least, and gulps that down, too. Then he sets the glass back onto the table and sags in his hair, his limbs heavy and weighted and a tiredness pulling at him that has his eyes slipping to half-mast and his head drifting weirdly. Sweet Pea gives him a look out of the corner of his eyes, then sets down his fork and sighs again, sounding a little exasperated. He gets to his feet and steps over to where Jughead is slouching precariously, the strength to keep himself upright all but drained out of him.

Sweet Pea shakes his head, as though he’s dealing with a bothersome child, and bends down to slip his arms around Jughead’s shoulders and beneath his knees, so that he can hoist Jughead up. He moves as though Jughead’s weight is nothing to him, no strain in his muscles, no sign of exertion at all. Jughead’s head lulls against Sweet Pea’s shoulder, his vision blurring a little as Sweet Pea turns and begins to walk over to the bed.

“The food.” Jughead tries to say, his words slurring together strangely and his tongue heavy and uncooperative around the syllables. “There was – there was something in the food.”

Sweet Pea frowns down at him, apparently taken aback by his words. “You still don’t believe any of it, do you?” Sweet Pea murmurs, almost more to himself than to Jughead and Jughead has trouble following anyway, feeling like he’s already half asleep and drifting. Weightless in Sweet Pea’s arms. He’s gone before he even hits the mattress.

~*~*~

The next time Jughead opens his eyes, night has fallen and the inside of the trailer is drenched in darkness, the only source of illumination the pale light of the moon seeping in through the windows. He’s lying on Sweet Pea’s bed on his side, his beanie gone and someone carding their fingers through his hair, slow and soothing. It feels so good, that careful, gentle touch, that it takes Jughead’s sleep-addled mind a moment to realize that it’s Sweet Pea, perched on the edge of the mattress by Jughead’s head, looking down at him with dark eyes and his face half hidden in shadows.

Jughead’s pulse jump-starting, he jerks away from Sweet Pea’s hand and clumsily scoots backward across the mattress until the wall halts his movements and there’s nowhere else left to go, his skin itchy an his chest pulling tight. Sweet Pea blows out a slow breath through his nose and pulls his hand back to his side. “So you’re awake.” He says, something strange about his voice. It sounds eerie and almost a little slurred, as if his mouth is having trouble forming the words. “Good. Maybe this will be enough to finally convince you.”

Jughead furrows his brows in confusion, his mouth dropping open to ask Sweet Pea what the Hell he’s talking about, but Sweet Pea is already moving, getting up off of the mattress and stepping back until he’s standing in the pool moonlight fully. He’s in a dark t-shirt and a checkered pair of boxers and he reaches to pull the t-shirt over his head, lets it drop to the floor carelessly once he’s done. Jughead’s eyes go wide and he scrambles up into a sitting position, his back pressed firmly to the wall behind him, his pulse racing and his chest heaving. A fuzzy chorus of ‘no, no, no’ running through his head like an out of control merry-go-round.

Sweet Pea pulls down his boxers and steps out of them next, leaving him naked, his slightly tanned skin soaking up the moon beams, making him look like something that doesn’t entirely belong in this world, dark and inherently dangerous. Eerily beautiful. The word plops up in Jughead’s head completely unbidden and he angrily stomps down on it just a second later, clinging to the fear and the revulsion as hard as he can, because he needs to so, so badly. Sweet Pea’s not hard, though, a numbed down part of Jughead notes, _at least not yet_.

Sweet Pea’s eyes slide open slowly and they’re not dark anymore at all, they have that weird golden glow to them, reflecting the moonlight like shards of broken glass and then a strange sort of ripple gores through the muscles beneath Sweet Pea’s skin and he bends forward a little, a pained groan tumbling from his mouth. Then another, louder, a whine that morphs into a growl, inhuman in it’s depth and his limbs begin to shifting awkwardly, his face elongating, deforming, his jaw bulging awkwardly and his nose drawing away from his face. There’s the awful sound of bones shifting and then snapping, loud like gunshots in the otherwise quiet of the trailer and Jughead flinches at each one, Sweet Pea’s breathing turning wet and labored. His limbs distorting and his muscles twisting and slithering like living things underneath his skin a horror show in the pale light.

Sweet Pea doubles over, panting harshly, loudly, the skin around the tips of his fingers breaking and his fingernails sharpening and lengthening until they’re sharp, pointy claws. His skin takes on a sickening purple hue, like bruises only worse and oh, God, the noises Sweet Pea is making has it sound like he’s _dying_. It chills Jughead to the bone and he feels frozen to the spot, unable to move at all, unable to pull his eyes away from the grotesque suffering unfolding before him. Dark hair begins to break through Sweet Pea’s skin, hiss form horrible and distorted, a pitiful creature caught somewhere between the shape of a wolf and that of a man, like something straight out of an 80s horror movie but so much worse because it’s _real_.

Sweet Pea keeps on shifting, changing, until finally the awful sounds he’s making subside and before Jughead, bathed in the moon’s pale, eerie light stands the black wolf from the library, huge and so very deadly. Tongue lolling out over yellowed, dagger-sharp teeth and panting roughly, shaking it’s fur from head to toe in one smooth motion, like a dog shedding water and then settling a little. The wolf, no _Sweet Pea_ , huffs out an annoyed breath and lifts its head, stands tall and proud in the moon’s glow and Jughead has no trouble at all seeing why there are so many horror stories, so many nightmares inspired by creatures such as him.

Jughead stares with wide eyes, breathless and terrified, as Sweet Pea trudges over to the bed and hops onto it, making the frame creak precariously and towering over Jughead, a deadly, looming mass of fur and teeth and claws. The only thing Jughead can think is ‘it’s all true, Toni was telling the truth’, because this is not a dream, it’s the waking world and it’s really happening and Jughead doesn’t know what to do with any of it. Sweet Pea growls at him, lips curling back to bare his fangs, and Jughead ducks his head instinctively, cowers before sweet Pea and holds absolutely still as Sweet Pea’s snout moves along his hair, Sweet Pea’s hot breath gusting ticklishly as Sweet Pea scents him.

When Sweet Pea whines at him and darts out his big, rough tongue to lap across Jughead’s face, Jughead screws his eyes shut, presses his mouth into a thin line and holds his breath, his head spinning as it tries to adjust to this new reality that he’s been tossed into. It’s like a shift has gone through the fabric of the world and a veil has been lifted before him and now he’s seeing things he was never meant to. A dark wave of despair follows after, sinks its claws into him and drags him downward mercilessly as Sweet Pea nudges at Jughead with his paw until Jughead is lying on the mattress again and Sweet Pea curls up next to him. Leaving Jughead effectively trapped between Sweet Pea’s huge form and the wall of the trailer.

Because, how is Jughead supposed to get away from this? How is he ever going to outrun this creature that was made for the hunt, that was made to tear apart prey like humans were made for breathing. And if this is real, then so is the fact that Jughead is tied to Sweet Pea by some sort of magic, whatever the Hell that means. He’s utterly trapped. The hopelessness of his situation hits him like a fist to the gut and Jughead curls up on his side as much as he can with the wolf pressed along his front, his fingers digging into the bedding and twisting it up in his fists. There’s a knot in his chest that’s threatening to rise up into his throat and cut off his air supply and he screws his eyes shut against the sting of despair, tries to breathe through it.

He can’t just give up like that, Jughead tells himself frantically, Sweet Pea huffing at him in irritation and leaning in to lick another hot, wet stripe along Jughead’s cheek. Jughead’s breath hitches and he reaches up to wipe the sleeve of his t-shirt across his face with a shaky hand. _He can’t_ _give up_. If this thing exists, then there are rules for it, like there are for everything in the world, one way or another. And that means there has to be some kind of weakness Jughead can exploit, a loophole, a way out. Something, _anything_. If only he weren’t feeling so fucking tired, if only it were easier to think right now, if only he weren’t such a huge fucking mess.

Sweet Pea’s fur is strangely soft where it brushes up against Jughead’s skin, the warmth radiating off of Sweet Pea and seeping into Jughead almost too much and Jughead can’t fight the way his eyes are drooping, the way his limbs are getting heavier. That strange _something_ in his chest twists and writhes unhappily and he feels slightly feverish with it, slightly nauseous, blurry and weird like he’s coming down with a bad cold and this fucking day has taken so much out of him. He’s got nothing left to hold off the pull of unconsciousness with. Almost even welcomes it, the prospect of not having to think or feel, of not having to deal with any of this even just for a little while. The only escape he has right now.

Sweet Pea gives a contented yip as Jughead gives up his fight, lets the tension drain out of him slowly like he’s an island losing air and he can feel Sweet Pea’s cold, wet snout slide along his forehead and messing up his bangs before retreating. Sweet Pea’s head coming to rest on his front legs, one eye with its golden glow trained on Jughead carefully. Watching Jughead as he drifts off again, his capacity for horror exhausted and a pale sort of numbness taking hold of him instead.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Non-con/Very heavy dub-con that could read as a sort of drugged date rape? Jughead is very clear about the fact that he doesn't want what's happening to him, but he's addled and he can't help that some of it still feels good, hence there's a lot of mind-fuckery going on. It's also pretty graphic. If this bothers you, but you'd still like to read the chapter, let me know, either in a comment or over on [Tumblr](https://yukichouji.tumblr.com/) and I can send you an edited version or try to mark the section off here so that it's more easily skippable.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3
> 
> If you liked this, you would absolutely make an author's day/week/month, by leaving a little kudos or even a comment, if you feel like it. I hope you're all doing well and holding up OK. Keep hanging in there! <3


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me so long, guys, but it's, like, really long? xD I hope that makes up for the wait a little :)
> 
> This fic is still giving me anxiety for so many reason, so please feel free to let me know, if something doesn't work for you, too. <3
> 
> I am doing my best. Hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> Also, more bad-awful-wrong smut ahead, just so you know~

~*~*~

“You’re right, his temperature is a little elevated.” The voice, female and familiar, drifts to Jughead through a disorienting fog. A cool hand on his forehead makes him instinctively tilt his head into the touch. He groans and his eyes flutter open, revealing Toni’s face above him, her brows furrowed and her mouth pulled into a small pout. Next to her Sweet Pea, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and a displeased frown marring his features.

Jughead sucks in a breath and jerks back from Toni’s touch, his pulse speeding up and his breathing quickening as he comes to fully. Toni lets her hand drop away and straightens up again, a sad look settling onto her face for a moment, before she catches herself and sighs, a harder edge creeping back in. Jughead’s lying on Sweet Pea’s bed, still in his jeans and t-shirt from yesterday.

He feels groggy and tired even thought the light streaming in through the windows of Sweet Pea’s trailer suggests it’s well past morning already. His head is weirdly stuffy and his limbs ache faintly when he struggles up into a sitting position on the bed. Like the beginnings of a cold creeping in.

Jughead swallows around the weird, stale taste in his mouth and wipes a hand across his eyes, his fingers threading through his bangs and that’s when he notices that his beanie is gone. His eyes dart across the bed, heart racing, but he finds it quickly enough, a crumpled lump of gray wool lying on the pillows next to him. Snatching it up, Jughead hurries to pull it over his head, all the way down over his ears, clinging fiercely to the small bit of comfort the familiar feel of it as it squishes down his hair offers. Because even the slightest pretense of a shield between him and the rest of the world is so much better than nothing right now.

“How are you feeling?” Toni asks softly and his eyes skip back up to her face, her tone of voice reminiscent of someone talking to a spooked kid and Jughead kind of hates it. Just like he hates everything else about this whole fucked up thing.

“I –“ He starts, then cuts himself off, swallowing thickly as all of yesterday swamps back into his sleep-slow mind. As he’s hit again by this new reality of his, overwhelmed and left reeling by the horror and the outlandishness of it, by all of the things he still doesn’t even remotely understand. A nauseating mix of fear and confusion that leaves his head swimming precariously. “I don’t know.” He finally mumbles, trying to keep his eyes on Toni, trying to cling to the fact that she’s here and that that probably means Sweet Pea won’t touch him again, for now. Not the way Jughead’s so afraid of, at least.

Sweet Pea huffs out a frustrated breath, then glowers at Jughead when he startles at the sound, eyes snapping up to Sweet Pea and pulse accelerating. Toni lays a careful hand on Sweet Pea’s elbow and he glances down at her, some of the tension visibly draining out of him, even though the frown on his face stays firmly put. She turns her attention back to Jughead. “We brought you some stuff we thought you might need.” She says, stepping to the side a little so that Jughead can see the rest of the trailer better. Sitting perched on one of Sweet Pea’s folding chairs half hidden behind Sweet Pea’s bulk and looking almost as unhappy as Sweet Pea, is Fangs with a stack of clothes balanced on his lap. Jughead hadn’t even noticed him.

Fangs gets up out of his seat and walks over to the bed, shoving the clothes at Jughead roughly and then retreating back to the chair as soon as Jughead’s taken them from him. They’re his clothes, Jughead realizes. Jeans, t-shirts, boxers, socks, and amongst them his toothbrush, and some other stuff from his bathroom like his shower gel and deodorant and comb. “How –?” Jughead starts, but then trails off, clutching his things tighter to his chest as if afraid that someone’s going to try and take them from him again. Irrational and stupid but an impulse he’s too tired to fight.

“Fangs and I waited until FP headed out last night and then snuck into the trailer to get some of your things. Thought it might be neat to have a fresh set of clothes at least.” Toni shrugs, a little half-smile pulling at her full lips and Jughead can see that she’s trying for his sake, but it’s kind of hard to feel grateful for any of it.

Jughead clenches his teeth until they start to ache and his hands tighten on the things he’s holding. “I need to use the bathroom.” He forces himself to say, tries and fails to keep the sudden wave of anger out of his voice. He feels too volatile, wound too tightly and with no place to safely direct all of it. Because lashing out now would only serve to make things worse for him.

“Sure.” Toni says, her face falling a little, but she’s quick to cover it up and she takes a step closer to Sweet Pea in order to give Jughead enough space to get off of the bed. Jughead moves without looking at either of them, his limbs stiff and awkward as he does so, his belongings cradled protectively to his chest, and he slips into the bathroom and pulls the door closed behind himself with just the tiniest bit too much force.

He turns the lock with a shaky hand and then leans his back against the door, trying to catch his breath and calm himself down again. His chest pulls painfully tight and his face contorts and he bends forward until he can press his face against the stack of neatly folded clothes in his arms and inhale deeply. Breathing in the familiar scent of the laundry detergent, of the closet they’d been stored in. Of home. By far not always good or happy, but still so, so much better than this.

Jughead finally pulls back and puts his things down on the closed lid of the toilet, then reaches up and wipes at his eyes again, his movements a little too jerky. He needs to pull himself together. He needs to keep strong and keep his wits about him until he can find a way out of this. Because there has to be something. There’s _always_ something. Right now, though there isn’t much he can do except go through some familiar motions and try to use them to center himself, even if just a little.

So he hurries to change into a fresh set of clothes, folds his worn set up and stacks them onto the others, then grabs his toothbrush and steps over to the sink. He takes a moment to look at his reflection in the mirror. His face is a little flushed, but under that he’s paler than usual, sickly almost, with dark circles prominent underneath his eyes. The bruises on his neck still stand out prominently and, when he twists around a little he can see part of the bite mark on his nape. It looks reddened along the edges of the scabbed over teeth marks and Jughead hisses in a breath when he lets his fingers trace it, something queasy fluttering in his chest.

Fuck.

There’s nothing he can do about it, the sensation in his chest threatening to become overwhelming, if he doesn’t start to focus on something else. So he rummages around in Sweet Pea’s mirror cabinet until he finds some toothpaste and starts to brush his teeth, zoning in on the task at hand and trying to blend out everything else. Like the fact that there are three people waiting for him outside or that one of them isn’t a normal person at all. Jughead takes his time, stalls purposefully, until any more brushing is liable to start peeling away his gums and he bends over and spits into the sink, toothpaste-white with faint smears of blood-pink and a strange, inexplicable tar-black.

Jughead shakes his head and washes it all away with water from the faucet, rinses his mouth out and cleans his toothbrush, then gathers up some of the cool water in his hands and splashes it onto his face. The shock of it enough to wake him up a little more, to make him feel a little more human at least. Even, if the faint but persistent fog in his head refuses to dissipate entirely.

He takes a piss, washes his hands. Washes them again. Stands there staring at his own drawn face in the mirror until he finally comes to the point where he has to admit that he can’t stall any longer. He’s going to have to step back out there eventually and the longer he puts it off, the harder it’s going to get. So he grabs his stuff, takes a deep, steadying breath and unlocks the door.

Fangs is still sitting on his folding chair, Toni has taken up a perch on the edge of the bed and Sweet Pea’s standing in the middle of the trailer, like he was pacing around and Jughead just interrupted him. They all glance up to look at him and Jughead feels a little like an insect under a microscope, shifting his weight uncomfortably as his gaze hops back and forth between the three of them. He darts his tongue out to wet dry lips and tries not to notice the way Sweet Pea’s eyes get caught on the movement. Tries to ignore the fresh wave of unease that bubbles up.

“You know you can’t just keep me here forever, right?” Jughead makes himself say, his voice sounding strangely rough and he swallows and clears his throat before he goes on, hands clenching tightly around his clothes. “What exactly is the plan here, huh? Because, if I don’t show up at school tomorrow, if I don’t come back home tonight, people are going to start wondering. And my dad isn’t just going to let it go. He’ll come looking for me.”

The three of them exchange a look, a quiet conversation between them, an understanding Jughead can’t follow. Toni is the one to speak, getting up off of the bed and gesturing towards it, as if to offer up the space to Jughead, who’s still standing awkwardly with his back against the bathroom door. Jughead doesn’t really want to move, least of all back to that fucking bed, but it’ll get him as far away from the three of them as he can get in the cramped interior of Sweet Pea’s trailer and it at least looks like they’re trying to give him some space.

So he inches over and takes a seat and stubbornly refuses to let go of his things, regardless of the slightly pitying look Toni gives him. They can all go fuck themselves as far as Jughead is concerned. “Sweet Pea is suspended until Friday next week.” Toni says, swallowing back a sigh and shifting her weight a little, arms coming up to fold in front her stomach. Defensive. A little uncomfortable. _Good_ , Jughead thinks vehemently, because that’s something he can work with, something he can push at.

“So you’ll be staying here until then at the least. It’s important that the two of you keep close until the bond has formed properly. And you’re definitely not going back to school without Sweet Pea there to keep an eye on you, as long as we don’t know whether or not we can trust you.” Toni looks at Jughead, her eyes resolute and her voice determined, despite her earlier signs of discomfort. “Fangs, Sweet Pea and I, we talked about it and we came up with a couple of things. I’m sorry about all of this, I already said that, but our lives are on the line here and we can’t afford to back down on any of it. You’re going to call in sick at school tomorrow. Forging a doctor’s note is surprisingly easy, actually. We already took care of that and I’ll drop it off at the principal’s office Monday morning. And you’re going to call FP later and tell him that you’ll be staying at Sweet Pea’s and that you don’t want to see him for a while. That should about cover it, at least for now.”

“What? No!” Jughead blurts out, anger rising up again, vicious and vile. They might be able to physically stop him from leaving this fucking trailer, but he won’t let them force him to help them cover this whole thing up. “I won’t do shit. Least of all lie to my dad for you! You’re crazy, if you think I’m just going to play along with this!”

Sweet Pea’s growls and bares his teeth, firsts balling at his sides as he takes an angry step towards Jughead. Throat closing up with a fresh wave of fear, Jughead drops his things, paying no attention at all to them as they land in a heap on the floor in front of him, and scrambles along the mattress until his back hits the wall, his pulse racing. It’s a gut reaction, something he has next to no control over and Jughead hates himself for it the moment the gets a handle on his scattered thoughts again. ‘Coward, coward, coward’, a mean little voice inside of his head chants at him. But he’s _not_. He’s right to be afraid. Sweet Pea is a fucking _monster_ and being afraid of him is the only smart thing.

Toni steps in, though, before Sweet Pea can take another step towards the bed. Touching Sweet Pea gain, Jughead notes, to calm him down. And it works, too, at least a little, Sweet Pea’s shoulders dropping as he huffs out a frustrated breath and shakes himself, lets Toni take the lead again.

“I know this isn’t easy for you. It’s not exactly a walk in the park for us, either.” Toni presses out, fixing Jughead with a hard look. “But none of us have much of choice other than to deal with it. You’re only making it harder on us and on yourself, if you keep fighting it. FP is like family to us, too. He’s our leader and we pledged to follow wherever he pointed when we joined the Serpents. He’s made some bad decisions along the way, but overall, he’s always done his best to protect the Serpents, to take care of us and keep us safe and that means a lot. And we do not want anyone to get hurt. _B_ _ut_. If FP finds out about this...”

“He doesn’t know and we can’t afford that to change.” Fangs chimes in, leaning forward in his seat with his elbows on his knees and a hard look on his face. “Sometimes you have to do some bad stuff to protect the people you love. Don’t think for a second we’ll hesitate.”

“You’ve seen what I am.” Sweet Pea spits the words at Jughead, aiming to cause harm, to hurt. “It shouldn’t be that much of a stretch of imagination to picture what’ll happen to anyone who comes knocking and asking the wrong kind of questions. I – _we_ learned that life is ugly a long time ago and that you have to be ready to do whatever it takes to keep safe. That’s how _our_ world works. You better wisen up and get used to it, because you’re a part of that world now, too. Whether you like it or not.”

Jughead stares at the three of them with too wide eyes, his insides all but frozen, disbelief warring with horror. “You wouldn’t.” He forces out faintly, even though he thinks he already knows that that’s not true. He can’t fight the sinking feeling that they mean what they just said, that they’d actually commit a murder to protect themselves. And Sweet Pea _could_ , so very easily.

Jughead has a string of images flashing before his inner eye, a nice little horror show, Sweet Pea in his wolf form standing over his dad’s dead body, fangs crimson coated and fur matted with blood. His dad’s mangled corpse something out of an 80s torture pron flick, hardly even recognizable any more. And they’d get away with it, too, have the whole thing look like a fucking animal attack and wash their hands clean of it with no-one the wiser. Jughead has to forcefully fight back the harsh wave of nausea that rises up in him and his stomach cramps painfully around the emptiness in it.

“Do you understand?” Toni pushes, looking him straight in the eye and not giving an inch. Jughead swallows thickly and makes himself nod once, the motion jerky and awkward. Yes, he understands all too well, he thinks despairingly. “Good. So, if you want to keep your dad and your friends safe, you’re going to lie to them as much as you need to, you’re going to do whatever it takes to keep them out of this – even if that means hurting them, even if it means cutting ties – to keep them _safe_. Am I right?”

“Yes.” Jughead presses out through clenched teeth, the word burning up his throat and on his tongue like acid. Because neither his dad nor anyone else he knows is in any way equipped to deal with – _this_. Not without getting hurt, not without becoming a fucking casualty. The realization is bitter and crushing. There’s no-one he can reach out to, no-one who’ll be able to help him. He’s alone in this. For a moment, Jughead gets so caught up in the hopelessness of the thought, that he almost doesn’t catch the other, not quite as obvious consequence of their words, of their willingness to go this far to protect themselves.

Because the way they’re acting, all of it, means that there has to be something they’re genuinely afraid of, something that could really hurt them. Toni said yesterday, that if he told the _wrong people_ about any of this, it could get them all killed. Which means there _is_ something Jughead can do. He just needs to figure out who Toni was talking about. He just needs to survive long enough to get there. It’s not much, but it’s something and Jughead clings to it fiercely. It helps calm him down a little. Life goes on, regardless of how fucked up things are.

Jughead will do what he has to for now, give them what he can’t fight as he waits for his chance. No matter how much it hurts. No matter what it takes. He’s been through a lot of horrible shit during the course of his life, granted nothing that quite compares to this level of grotesque and awful, but he’ll survive this, too, somehow. He has to believe that.

“Alright. Good. We’ll take care of calling your dad later. For now, we’ve still got a lot to talk about. You’ve got a lot to learn.” Toni sighs and some of the tension leaves her small frame as she lets her gaze drift over to Sweet Pea. “Why don’t you and Fangs head over to Pop’s and grab some burgers for all of us? Get some fresh air while you’re at it.”

Sweet Pea, still frowning and unhappy, turns to exchange a look with Fangs, who just shrugs and gets up out of his chair, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans sullenly. “I’ve got this.” Toni huffs, a little exasperated at their hesitance perhaps. “The tension in here is thick enough to cut with a knife. I know you like it cozy, Sweet Pea, but even you can use a breather every now and again. Take it.”

“Fine.” Sweet Pea growls after another moment, looking a bit like a kid huffing about being chastised and that’s so at odds with – with the monster Jughead knows him to be now, with the man who just threatened to kill Jughead’s dad, that it’s a little hard to keep up with. It’s like Jughead’s reality is constantly shifting, like every time Jughead thinks he’s beginning to find his footing even just a little, the ground gets yanked right out from under him again and he’s left reeling.

“But not without precautions.” Sweet Pea tags on, holding a hand out towards Fangs and making a beckoning gesture with his fingers, Jughead’s brows furrowing in confusion as he watches the two of them. Fangs reaches into one of the back pockets of his torn jeans and pulls it back to hand something circular with a metallic glint to it over to Sweet Pea.

Jughead realizes with a start that it’s a pair of fucking handcuffs. Jughead’s heart kicks into overdrive and he presses his back harder up against the wall behind him while Toni takes a step to the side to let Sweet Pea approach the bed. “No!” Jughead blurts out as Sweet Pea sets a knee onto the mattress, frowning impatiently at him.

“I’m not leaving you alone here with Toni without these.” Sweet Pea growls at him, the cuffs dangling form one finger as he shows them off, before he wraps his fingers around them again to get a better grip. “Just in case you still haven’t understood how pointless and stupid running would be. I’m not taking any fucking chances.”

Jughead pulls his knees up towards his chest and shakes his head ‘no’, everything in him rebelling against the idea of being rendered even more helpless than he already feels. Even, if Sweet Pea is leaving, even if it’s just with Toni here. He kicks at Sweet Pea, though he knows that it won’t do much, twists away, when Sweet Pea reaches for him, but Sweet Pea just growls in annoyance, bats his legs away and wrestles Jughead down like it’s nothing to him. No effort needed at all to press Jughead into the mattress and twist his right arm out from under him, Sweet Pea’s grip so tight it makes Jughead suck in a breath through his clenched teeth.

Jughead keeps fighting Sweet Pea, writhing beneath him, trying to buck him off, but Sweet Pea is a solid weight on top of Jughead, keeping him pinned so very easily, Jughead’s heart racing frantically in his chest. All of it driving home again, in a way that’s all too horribly clear, how outmatched Jughead is when it comes to Sweet Pea’s physical strength. The cold metal clicks into place around his wrist, snug against his skin and Jughead can’t help the desperate, frustrated tears that sting at his eyes. Sweet Pea lifts his weight off of Jughead and uses his grip on Jughead’s arm to pull him up the mattress until Sweet Pea can wrap the other half of the cuffs around one of the wooden bars in the headboard of his bed and slide it shut there.

Effectively trapping Jughead where he is. His breathing erratic and his pulse fluttering and panicky Jughead pulls at the cuffs, the sharp edges of the metal biting into his skin, desperately testing for a give that isn’t there. Sweet Pea makes a sound deep in his throat, something caught halfway between a whine and a growl and he leans in and presses his face into the side of Jughead’s neck, Sweet Pea’s fingers digging into Jughead’s forearm, into his ribs where Sweet Pea is holding him still, putting a stop to Jughead’s pointless struggles.

Sweet Pea’s nose slides ticklishly along Jughead’s skin, his breath gusting out in hot little puffs of air as Sweet Pea inhales deeply and Jughead screws his eyes shut and presses his mouth into a thin line as he tries to fight through the shivery revulsion that slithers around in his chest. Through the fear that won’t loosen its grip on him no matter how hard he tries to fight it.

With a groan, moving like it costs him a great deal of strength to do so, Sweet Pea slowly peals his hands away form Jughead, lifts himself off of him and Jughead immediately uses his chance to scramble out form under him. To move away until he’s sitting with his back pressed up against the headboard he’s cuffed to. His face pulled into a grimace, a strange mix of frustration and hurt, Sweet Pea gets off of the bed, stands there looking at Jughead in his miserable state like Jughead somehow wronged _him_ and not the other way around.

Anger flaring bright and hot in Sweet Pea’s eyes as they take on a golden glow, Sweet Pea curses under his breath then spins around and punches the wall in an explosion of rage, his fist going right through. Fangs, Toni and Jughead all flinch at the sudden display of violence, but Fangs and Toni catch themselves quickly, while Jughead just continues to sit there, frozen to the spot and with his heart racing in his throat.

Fangs pulls a face and glares at Jughead, before walking over to Sweet Pea, laying a careful hand on Sweet Pea’s heaving back. Sweet Pea’s breathing begins to slow and he pulls his hand from the wall, leaving behind a fist-sized hole. Shakes himself as if trying do dispel the unwanted emotion and then turns towards Fangs, wraps his hand around the the back of Fangs’ neck and closes his eyes as he leans down to press their foreheads together and inhale deeply. Fangs lets him without any sign of hesitation or discomfort, as if this is a thing that happens often and naturally, and pats Sweet Pea’s back slowly while Sweet Pea calms himself back down.

“Lets get out of here, man.” Fangs murmurs and Sweet Pea sighs and pulls away, his eyes sliding back over to Jughead, all hint of gold gone, calmer now but confusion and frustration still firmly visible. Fangs splays his hand out over the small of Sweet Pea’s back as he follows Sweet Pea’s gaze and he glowers at Jughead from where he’s standing. Jughead has no idea what to do with any of it.

“Come on, dude.” Fangs says and turns towards the door, dismissing Jughead all together as he guides Sweet Pea along and to Jughead’s quiet surprise Sweet Pea lets him without hesitation. Wrapping his arm around Fangs’ shoulders as they go to keep Fangs close, his hand sliding into Fangs hair and ruffling it until Fangs huffs at him and bats it away.

Toni follows their movements until the door to the trailer closes behind them, a thoughtful look on her face, worry lines creasing up her forehead beneath her pink-tinted bangs. “He’s having trouble dealing with your reactions to him.” She finally says, almost more to herself than to Jughead.

“What?” Jughead asks, still unsuccessfully trying to calm himself back down, tugging at the cuffs even though he already knows he’s not going to find a way to get out of them, because these are the real deal, not something cheap and breakable you can get off of the internet. God knows how they managed to get their hands on them. Toni turns to look at him, her eyes tracing over Jughead and taking in his state. She sighs and bends down to start picking up the stuff Jughead dropped, when he was trying to get away from Sweet Pea. He’d feel bad about it, but it’s not like this is the first time she’s sorting through his underwear, apparently, Jughead thinks with a bitter twist to his mouth.

“You panic whenever he tries to touch you.” Toni says, her voice a little muffled until she straightens up and dumps an armful of Jughead’s clothes onto the bed. “Werewolves are instinct-driven. They’re not exactly _slaves_ to their instincts, but it can be hard to work around them, especially when the full moon is still this close. Fear means prey and it can trigger anger and violence. Plus you’re his mate. So his instincts to protect you, to keep you safe and happy would be pretty strong. The fact that he’s failing and that he’s the cause for your distress has to be pretty hard on him. Werewolves are very tactile. Touch is important. Touch is what strengthens the bond and helps it settle. Touch is what makes ‘pack’, how friends and family are reassured and kept happy. But you shy away from it.”

“You’re making it sound like any of that’s my fault.” Jughead presses out through his teeth, trying hard to bite back on the wave of anger that rises up like a flood and failing. “I didn’t ask for any of this! You guys are the ones, who practically kidnapped me! You’re holding me here against my will, you’re threatening to kill people, if I talk, no one even so much as bothered to ask me what I fucking want, which would be my fucking life back, thanks. And then, what? It’s my fault that I don’t want Sweet Pea to fucking touch me? You know there’s a word for what he’s doing to me, right? And it’s an ugly one. None of this is fucking OK!”

He spits the words out like they’re acid, not even realizing how hard he’s pulling at his cuffs, the way he’s agitatedly gesturing with his hands, until the ache in his wrist reaches him through the fog of red-hot anger in his head. Jughead lets his hands drop to the mattress, breathing hard and staring at Toni, who sighs again, looking tired and drawn for a moment, before that mask of hardness covers it all up again. But Jughead’s seen the fractures now and it gives him a bitter kind of satisfaction to know that the situation is grating on her, too, at least a little.

She walks over to the door and grabs what looks like her school bag from where it’s resting against the wall, pulls one of Sweet Pea’s folding chairs closer to the bed and flops down onto it, her bag resting on her lap. “I get that you’re not happy.” Toni folds her hands over her bag, her voice eerily calm, hard, but still somehow compassionate. “This whole situation isn’t exactly ideal for any of us, believe me. But we’re doing what we need to to survive. The world is a fucked up and dangerous place, especially _this_ one. Especially for _us_. You walked right into something you didn’t understand. I know you were just trying to do what you thought was right, for us, for the Serpents. And we appreciate that.”

“We _tried_ to keep you safe, you know. Sweet Pea has had a thing for you for a while now. The two of you have kind of been dancing around each other from the start, if you ask me. Because it’s obvious that you’re into him, too.” Jughead opens his mouth to interject, but Toni holds up her hand to stop him and he snaps his mouth shut again, bites back on his vile response, if only to figure out where she’s going with this. “I’ve said it a dozen times already and I’m going to say it again: This is not the way things were supposed to go down, regardless of any of that. You have no idea how hard Sweet Pea has been fighting his instincts when it comes to you. He’s _not_ a monster, no matter what you might think.”

“Werewolves are as dangerous as it gets, make no mistake there. But that’s not all they are. They’re social creatures and Sweet Pea has neither a family, because they actively shun him, nor a pack, because there just aren’t any other wolves around and going out looking would be close to a suicide call. Fangs and I and the Serpents, we’re all Sweet Pea’s got. He protects us and we protect him. And you, as his mate now, you’re even more important to him. Werewolves mate for life. If the mating bond is broken for whatever reason, it can actually _kill_ them. And Sweet Pea’s wolf wouldn’t have decided that he wants you, if he hadn’t been able to sense that you’re attracted to him, as well. It’s just, it’s the _how_ that’s the problem, obviously.”

“If you hadn’t gone to him the night before the full moon, angry and pissed off, challenging him in his own home, pushing all the wrong buttons… Then none of this would have happened the way it did. I _tried_ to warn you. I _told_ you not to go. But you just wouldn’t listen. And now we’re all in deep shit. So the faster you get over it and start to accept things for what they are, the faster the bond can settle and we can all try to figure out what our new ‘normal’ looks like. And we all want that, believe me.”

Jughead feels dizzy and lightheaded, her words touching something that _hurts_. Maybe he was being stupid, when he came here to talk to Sweet Pea about what had happened at school that got him suspended. But how the Hell was he supposed to _know_? And how is him maybe liking Sweet Pea, before all of this, supposed to make any of it better? His feelings towards Sweet Pea, whatever those are, aren’t a free pass for Sweet Pea to just, take whatever he wants regardless of how many times Jughead tells him that _he’s not OK with any of it_.

But, if Toni’s monologue drives one thing home, then it’s how dismal his hope of getting out of this fucking shit show any time soon is. Jughead sags against the headboard of the bed, his head thudding against the wall lightly as he rests it against it. His face feels hot and he’s so fucking tired, the burst of rage leaving him feeling drained and empty now that he’s lost his momentum. He’s still plenty bitter, but the steam that kept him going has dissipated somewhat.

“So what exactly do you expect me to do?” Jughead asks, trying not to let too much of his despair drench his voice but only succeeding partially. He does his best to remind himself that he needs to hold on, that he needs to stay sharp and strong until he figures this out, but it’s so hard when all he feels is numb and weirdly blurred. The back of his neck aches, but he tries his best to ignore it.

“You could stop fighting Sweet Pea so hard. You could try to accept the fact that it’s doing nothing except making things harder on the both of you, because like I said, you’re not the only one, who’s having trouble dealing.” Toni says, her eyes holding Jughead’s gaze intently, as if willing him to understand. “You could at least try to give Sweet Pea a chance. All you’re doing right now is drawing out your own suffering.”

Jughead draws in a breath, his mouth dropping open on a biting retort, but Toni holds up her hand to stop him and, scowling at her, Jughead snaps his mouth back shut. “At least take a moment to think about what I said.” She tags on, a sigh caught in her throat.

“But until then, what you can do is listen and learn.” Toni says, opening the flap on her bag and digging out a stack of notebooks, bound in shrill purple and pink, and placing them on her lap as she sets the bag down beside her chair. “There’s so much that you don’t know, yet. And you’ll need it to stay alive. There’s logic to all of this madness, there are rules, and you need to understand them. First the Uktena and now the Serpents, or at least those of us with roots that connect us to this other side of things, the one you’re just now learning exists, have been keepers of knowledge for a long time. Knowledge that is very important. My grandfather is passing it on to me the way his father did to him. They’ve been doing it orally for generations, but I’ve started to write things down as I learn them. To make it easier.”

“I’ll go through the most important things with you. But I don’t have the time to cover everything, so I’ll be leaving these here.” She lifts the notebooks off of her lap, brandishing them for him, before leaning forward and setting them down on the mattress in front of him. “They’re not complete yet. I’m still learning, too. But they work kind of like encyclopedias for different aspects of the supernatural.”

Despite everything, Jughead can’t help the curiosity that spikes up. He draws his tongue across dry lips and reaches out carefully to pick up one of the brightly colored notebooks. He opens it, the first page adorned with the word ‘bestiary’ in Toni’s neat, cursive handwriting. Flipping through it, Jughead finds an alphabetically sorted listing of different ‘creatures’. Pages, upon pages of handwritten notes, some illustrated with surprisingly skillful drawings. All of which look like they would belong in some sort of horror novel, every creature depicted grotesque and ugly in a way that makes the hairs on the back of Jughead’s neck prickle to attention uncomfortably.

Jughead swallows thickly around the dryness in his mouth, clears his throat before he peals his gaze away from the pages and shifts it back over to Toni, who’s watching him patiently. “All of this is real?” Jughead finally manages, his voice weak and his eyes slipping over to the other notebooks he hasn’t even opened yet. Toni nods quietly, her eyes sympathetic as she holds Jughead’s gaze, waiting him out. “ _How_?”

“How is it that all of these things exist and you never knew about it, you mean?” Toni asks, her voice a little flat and Jughead just nods at her, at a loss for words. “That’s a good question, actually. I guess there are a couple of different answers to it. Most of us learn to hide what we are pretty quickly. The ones, who don’t tend not to survive for very long. For some of us blending in is easier, than for others, but there are ways to help it along. But I guess most of all regular people are just very good at not seeing what they don’t _want_ to see and the undeniable darkness all around them is definitely a part of that.”

“Fangs, for example. When he was really young, he started telling people that he was seeing things they couldn’t. His mom panicked and dragged him to a psychiatrist and he got diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. Until my grandfather figured out what was going on and had a talk with little Fangs. He got ‘better’ quickly, after that. Better at not talking about it. But the thing is, no-one even thought for a second to believe him. Just imagine how your dad would react, if you tried to tell him that you were being held captive by a _werewolf_.”

Jughead takes a moment to let her words sink in, to mull them over in his head. He can’t speak to anything other than people’s talents to ignore the truth, if it doesn’t fit their view of the world and in that point, Toni is definitely, sadly right. But still. It’s all so strange. The idea that there should be this entire world of darkness that’s existed right under his nose all his life and he’s never even so much as caught a glimpse of it… It just seems so outlandish. He wants to understand. To learn. To figure out what he’s dealing with.

But then another thought hits him and Jughead can’t believe it didn’t occur to him sooner, because it’s so fucking obvious it’s almost painful. “Wait.” He blurts out, closing the notebook in his hands and narrowing his eyes at Toni. “If Sweet Pea is a werewolf and he bit me… Does that mean, what? That I’m going to grow fur and fangs and claws once the next full moon comes around, too?”

Jughead has no idea how to feel about the possibility except overwhelmed. It’s all too fucking much. Toni just snorts out a laugh, though, her hands dancing around in front of her face as if to dispel the notion. “Don’t worry.” She says dryly, one eyebrow raised and her hands dropping back down to her lap. “Changing someone into a werewolf isn’t that easy. It’s actually pretty hard. You’d need to be brought to the brink of death from having a werewolf maul you and somehow survive to be turned. It rarely works, which is why most werewolves are born, not made. You’re still perfectly human. Aside form the magic of the bond. There are some changes you’re going through right now, which is why you’re feeling so tired right now, you’re body’s trying to adapt, but nothing as crass as being a werewolf.”

Jughead lets out a slow breath. That’s fucking something at least. He has so many more questions, but before he can voice any of them, the door to the trailer opens and Fangs and Sweet Pea step in, both of them carrying multiple take-out bags with the logo of Pop’s printed colorfully onto them. It looks like they got enough to feed a small army or something. Jughead can feel himself tense up where he’s sitting, his shoulders pulling tight and his hands clenching around the notebook he’s holding. If Sweet Pea is back, that means his reprieve is over.

Toni turns to greet the two of them as Fangs and Sweet Pea amble over to Sweet Pea’s dining table and set down their bags on it. Sweet Pea has a small, thin slab of wood wedged under his arm and he grabs it once his hands are free, walks over and leans it against the wall where the hole he punched into it earlier is still gaping accusingly. Jughead keeps his eyes on Sweet Pea as he moves, not trusting the way Sweet Pea’s pointedly ignoring him.

When Sweet Pea finally does turn towards him, he looks sullen and grumpy and Jughead frowns right back at him, his shoulders pulling up defensively. Sweet Pea reaches into one of the front pockets of his jeans and pulls out something small and shiny that looks a lot like a key and Toni gets up out of her chair, dragging it over to the table to help Fangs unpack the take-out bags. Jughead knows that it’s stupid to shrink back from Sweet Pea as he approaches the bed, when all Sweet Pea is looking to do is free him of those stupid handcuffs, but Jughead can’t fucking help himself.

He feels weak and stupid about it, but he still scoots as far back as the cuffs will let him, until he’s huddled against the wall in the corner at the edge of the headboard. Jughead flinches, when Sweet Pea wraps his fingers around Jughead’s forearm right beneath the cuffs and Sweet Pea growls at him and tightens his grip in warning, making Jughead freeze up again, holding his breath as he waits for Sweet Pea to do his thing. Sweet Pea unlocks the cuff and slides it open, the body-warm ring of metal finally dropping away from Jughead’s wrist and Jughead lets out the breath he’d been holding in a quite gust of air.

But Sweet Pea doesn’t let go of Jughead’s arm the way Jughead thought he would. Instead, he glowers down at Jughead’s wrist and Jughead follows his gaze, confused until he sees the reddened circle scratched into his skin. Abrasions form the cuffs, from where he’d pulled at them too hard in his distress earlier. Sweet Pea’s fingers trace the inside of Jughead’s wrist, where his skin is soft and vulnerable, follows the discoloration with a touch so light it’s ticklish, sending a shudder through Jughead’s frame.

He tugs at Sweet Pea’s grip, feeling the need to get a way form his touch, to put more distance between them well up strongly and urgently, making his chest feel tight and the muscles in his shoulders ache. Instead of letting go of him, though, Sweet Pea suddenly pulls at Jughead’s arm and twists around so that Jughead, unbalanced and caught off guard, tumbles against Sweet Pea’s chest, gasping in surprise. Sweet Pea reaches up his free hand and cradles Jughead’s chin with it, makes Jughead tilt his head up until Sweet Pea can lean in and kiss him. It’s a little too rushed, a little too harsh, almost like a punishment, like Sweet Pea just can’t help himself, and Jughead’s whole body freezes up, every muscle a fraught line of tension as he uselessly pushes at Sweet Pea’s chest with his free hand.

He can feel that strange presence in his chest writhe and snake outwards, up his throat and down his arm, towards the points of contacts, heat shooting into his face and making him feel woozy and lightheaded. They’re both breathing hard by the time Sweet Pea pulls away and ends the kiss. That feverish feeling from this morning, that strange fog in Jughead’s head settles back in and Jughead feels both dazed and distressed at the same time. Sweet Pea’s thumb traces distractedly along Jughead’s bottom lip, before he pulls in a deep breath and finally lets go of Jughead all together.

As soon as Sweet Pea turns his back on him and gets off of the bed, Jughead wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and he pulls his arm to his chest, his fingers wrapping around his wrist and rubbing at the abrasions there to chase away the last traces of the feel of metal biting into his skin, of the lingering ghost of the unwanted touch. Toni and Fangs still being here are the only reason Sweet Pea didn’t take things any further, Jughead thinks, feeling strangely numb and detached, doing all he can not to think about the fact that they’re going to leave again eventually. And that there won’t be anything there to stop Sweet Pea then.

God, he has to get out of this, Jughead thinks desperately, his stomach cramping and a fresh wave of nausea, of barely suppressed panic rising up. Because he really doesn’t know how many more times he can go through – through _that,_ through Sweet Pea _fucking him_ , without breaking. He can already feel the cracks running through him, the fabric of who he is beginning to crumble. Both Fangs and Toni are looking at him, when Jughead raises his eyes again, Toni’s gaze concerned and Fangs’ moody and unhappy. Sweet Pea ignores all of them, instead rummaging around in one of the drawers of his dresser until he pulls out a worn-looking hammer and a small box that rattles, when he shifts it.

He walks over to the damaged wall, opens the box to retrieve a couple of nails, then sets it down and picks up the slab of wood. Holds it against the wall to cover the hole in it and starts to nail it in place. It’s a very makeshift fix, but Jughead supposes it’ll do it’s job until a better solution can be found. Once he’s done, Sweet Pea puts his tools away again and walks over to the table, grabs a burger, a shake and a box of fries and then just plops down onto the carpet unceremoniously, sitting cross-legged as he sets his food down in front of him.

Fangs joins him easily, sitting close enough that their knees touch and still opting to ignore Jughead, it seems. Toni glances first at them as they start to unpack their food, then at Jughead, who doesn’t plan on moving away form his spot on the bed and closer to Sweet Pea any time soon, if he can help it, regardless of how much the food on Sweet Pea’s dining table may be calling to him. She huffs out a breath and rolls her eyes at all of them and Jughead thinks he hears her murmur something about ‘stubborn idiots’, Sweet Pea’s shoulders pulling up defensively and his frown deepening as he steadfastly ignores her and Fangs reaches out to pat his arm, before he digs back into his burger.

Toni grabs some food and a shake and brings it over to Jughead, giving him a look he can’t quite read as she sets it down in front of him on the mattress. Despite everything, Jughead _is_ hungry and his stomach gives an excited grumble at the familiar smell of his favorite food. When is Jughead ever _not_ hungry? He sees no use in protesting his situation by starving himself, so he takes up one of the burgers, peals away part of the foil it’s wrapped up in and takes a big bite of it, the taste so reminiscent of all of the days and nights spent at Pop’s, a place where he’s always felt safe, where he’s fled to to escape his troubles more times than he can count, that it makes his chest ache with longing now. Like getting a glimpse of a world where everything is still as it should be, a world right at the tips of his fingers, but so very painfully out of reach.

He swallows his mouthful of burger together with the lump in his throat and tries really hard not to think about it as he takes another bite, tries not to wonder whether or not Pop’s will ever be quite the same to him. Toni just sighs and walks back over to the table, grabs some stuff for herself and takes a seat on the floor on Sweet Pea’s other side. Close enough to brush her elbow against Sweet Pea’s whenever either of them moves. Jughead watches them carefully through his bangs as he eats, head tilted down. Jughead knows them, knows the way they work together as friends, or at least that’s what he’d thought before all this. But he’s never taken the time to look this closely, to notice how often, how casually they touch each other. Or, more like it, how often and how casually they touch Sweet Pea and vice versa.

There’s a physical kind of closeness there, a tactile nature to their handling of each other that Jughead simply hadn’t noticed before. But now, it’s kind of hard to miss. It’s for Sweet Pea’s sake, Jughead thinks. But maybe not only. Because neither Toni nor Fangs seem uncomfortable with it, they look happy and at ease, like they enjoy the closeness as much as Sweet Pea does. It’s a little strange to Jughead. If he’d payed more attention to it before, he probably would have guessed that there was a sexual component to their dynamic. But now he doesn’t think there is. Not really.

It’s just… a way of communicating to them, something Sweet Pea needs, if what Toni said is right. Pack. Family. That sort of thing. Jughead’s not really a very tactile person, never has been. He’s not used to people touching him in a way that isn’t either brief and functional, just a little too rough, or outright meant to cause hurt. Betty had been the exception, with her gentle hands and her soft lips and he’d cherished every second of it, feeling like he’d found something truly special. Right up until he managed to fuck that up, too, just like he has a tendency to do with most things that are important to him. The thought of Betty _hurts_ and that hurt translates into anger, a fresh wave of it. Anger both at this fucked up world he’s living in, at the awful state of things, and at himself, for getting caught up in a train of thought humanizing Sweet Pea.

Because he can’t do that. He can’t let himself be baited into feeling any kind of sympathy for Sweet Pea. His hatred for what Sweet Pea is doing to him, is the only thing Jughead has that allows him to hold onto his sense of self. To keep him going and fighting, where he needs to. If he doesn’t have that anymore, he might as well just lie down and fucking die. Maybe he was being stupid, when he came here the other night, but that doesn’t mean that any of this is his fault, that he deserves what’s happening to him. The thought that Sweet Pea might be unhappy with this, as well, that Sweet Pea is having trouble dealing, too, it blurs the lines in Jughead’s head in a dangerous way and Jughead can’t fucking afford that.

Jughead can feel himself grow more agitated and he squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden stab of pain in his temples, against the headache that flares up out of nowhere and he sets down his burger so that he can press the heels of his hands against his eyelids. The strangeness in his chest unfurls and spreads out, like snakes wrapping around his torso and crawling up his throat. Jughead gasps as the pain in his head peaks and then there’s a weird sensation in his sinuses, like something bursting and the next thing he knows something warm and wet is dribbling from his nose across his lips and down his chin.

Startled, Jughead pulls his hands away from his eyes and wipes one of them across his mouth. When he holds his palm up, it’s not smeared with red, the way he’d expected, but with a sticky tar-black. Black droplets begin to land on the blanket, falling from his nose in hot little rivulets. He feels fever-warm and clogged up and this is not fucking _normal_. “What the –?” Sweet Pea’s voice cuts through the fog in Jughead’s head and the next thing he knows, Toni is right there in front of him, her face strangely blurred.

She’s got a wadded up ball of paper napkins with Pop’s logo on them in her hand and she reaches up to press it against his nostrils, a curse on her lips as she takes him in. Jughead’s breathing too quickly and his hands are shaking when he reaches to replace her fingers holding the tissues to his nose. Toni curls her fingers underneath Jughead’s chin and tries to make him lift his head, but Jughead automatically flinches away from her touch and she furrows her elegant brows, frowning at him. The not-nosebleed, whatever the fuck it is, won’t stop, the taste that floods Jughead’s mouth bitter and acidic and he has trouble not choking on it as he grows more desperate, dizziness taking hold of him and making him sway precariously.

“Sweet Pea.” Toni mutters and the next thing Jughead knows the mattress is shifting beneath him as Sweet Pea climbs onto the bed with him. Jughead wants to pull away, but Sweet Pea’s hands on him are too strong, too firm and Jughead feels weak and shaky already and he can’t fight it when Sweet Pea settles behind him and pulls him back against his chest. Makes Jughead tilt his head back until it’s resting on Sweet Pea’s shoulder, Sweet Pea’s arms wrapped around Jughead’s middle and holding him firmly close. Jughead screws his eyes shut as Sweet Pea’s fingers spread wide over his chest, Sweet Pea’s palm right where Jughead’s frantic heart is racing in the cage of his ribs and Jughead clutches at Sweet Pea’s arm desperately, his fingers digging into Sweet Pea’s skin.

It has to be painful, but Sweet Pea doesn’t even seem to notice, he lifts his free hand so that he can lay it across Jughead’s feverish forehead, his mouth pressed against the exposed side of Jughead’s neck. Touch, Jughead thinks dizzily, touch, nausea burning up the back of his throat, his skin crawling all over. Sweet Pea hums at him, the sound vibrating through Sweet Pea’s chest, through Jughead’s back, where he’s pressed up against him and Sweet Pea starts to rock the both of them back and forth carefully. Tiny little motions, like trying to calm a frightened child and Jughead hates it, he hates Sweet Pea so fucking much, he doesn’t even know what to do with it anymore.

The feeling in his chest, the feverish heat beneath his skin, it rises up until he thinks he can’t take it anymore, a desperate whine slipping past his lips and Sweet Pea’s hand pressing down harder against his chest in turn, the wrongness right beneath writhing like a ball of worms. And then it just – breaks. Like a wave hitting a wall of cliffs. It crashes inside of him and then slowly starts to seep away. Jughead gasps and then sags against Sweet Pea’s chest like a puppet, who’s strings have been cut, the pressure in his nose slowly fading and his pulse petering out towards a more normal, more natural rhythm.

He blinks his eyes open, chest rising and falling as he struggles to pull in enough air, his lungs slower to calm than the rest of him, and he takes the wadded up paper towels away form his nose, his hand dropping to the blanket. Limbs heavy and weighted, feeling drained. There’s a soft trickle of warmth across his upper lip, but it gets slower and less with every new breath until it stops completely. Heat blooms in his chest beneath Sweet Pea’s palm, slow and lazy as it wraps itself around his heart and the nausea dims down again until it’s barely even there anymore.

“What – What the fuck?” Jughead manages weakly. Toni glances up over Jughead’s shoulder, exchanging a worried look with Sweet Pea, before she shakes her head slowly, her lower lip held between her teeth. “I don’t know.” She finally sighs and straightens up, her arms crossing in front of her chest as she regards the two of them sitting there, a concerned frown pulling at her pretty features. “I’ve never seen or heard of anything like this… Something’s not right. But touch seems to be helping, I think. So you should probably stick with that. I’ll do some re-search, try to ask my grandfather about it. But, if it gets worse, you need to call me.”

She says the last thing directed at Sweet Pea and he shifts behind Jughead as he nods. Jughead can feel the temporary calm begin to fade and he starts to pull at Sweet Pea’s hold, and to his surprise, Sweet Pea actually lets him go. Jughead shakes himself and scoots across the mattress until they’re no longer touching, until he can lean his back against the headboard of the bed and blow his nose, get rid of the last of the weird stuff clogging it up so that he can finally breathe through it again. He still feels a little dizzy, weariness making him slow and sluggish and Sweet Pea sits there frowning at him, as if he just can’t make sense of Jughead and he’s pissed off by it.

“Finish your food.” Sweet Pea grumbles, then balls his hands into fists and reluctantly moves off of the bed again, past Toni and back over to where Fangs is still sitting and Sweet Pea’s half-eaten burger rests on his box of fries. Sweet Pea picks it up and attacks it as though it’s personally offended him or something, his mood clearly soured and Fangs side-eyes Sweet Pea with furrowed brows as he watches him eat.

“When you’re done you need to call your dad and then get some rest. I think you might have had enough excitement for one day.” Toni says as she takes in Jughead and his rough state. He’s got that weird black stuff smeared all over his hands, his face and neck feeling sticky with it, even though he’s tried wiping it away with the paper napkins. He can feel his gut pull tight and his pulse flutter at her words, though. Because it means that she and Fangs are planning to go soon. That they’re going to leave him alone with Sweet Pea again.

“Don’t go.” Jughead blurts out, too tired to properly censor himself and he’s ashamed at the distress in his voice, but he just can’t help it. Toni’s eyes on him go soft and a little sad and she sighs before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Eat.” Is all she says, her voice firm but sympathetic and Jughead rubs at his eyes before picking his burger back up. He can fucking wash up after he’s eaten or something. Because he’s tired and he’s hungry and at least the food is good, even if it gets tainted by the weird bitter taste that’s still stuck on his tongue. His hands are only a little unsteady as he moves.

Jughead manages two burgers, one helping of fries and his strawberry milkshake, before he has to give up and admit that he’s finally full, all the while doing his best to ignore the feel of Sweet Pea’s watchful eyes on him. He takes his time, too, stalling as best as he can, but eventually there’s nothing more he can do, at least food-wise. So he wads the foil his last hamburger was wrapped in up into a ball and discards it before shuffling off of the bed, feeling a little more steady now that he’s eaten properly. Jughead heads into the bathroom and takes a moment to wash his hands and face, to get rid of the last traces of his weird not-nosebleed.

He doesn’t even know where to fucking start with that one. Something’s wrong, that much is fucking obvious and he doesn’t need the physical manifestation of vomiting black goo and having it drip from his nose to get to that conclusion either, he thinks with biting sarcasm. He could just stay in here, Jughead thinks for a petty moment, wait until Sweet Pea gets frustrated enough to _drag_ him out, but then again, what good would that do him, aside from making Sweet Pea pissed off and volatile?

So he makes himself step back out into the tiny trailer. The wrappings of his meal are gone from the bed and so is the pile of his clothes that Fangs and Toni’d brought with them when they came over earlier, no trace of any of it, he notes numbly and he takes a careful seat on the edge of the mattress. “Alright.” Toni says with a sigh and bends down to rummage around in her school bag, pulling a cellphone from its depths and straightening back up with it. _His_ cellphone, Jughead notes, his face pulling into an unhappy scowl. “Time to call your dad. Just we talked about. You’re staying with Sweet Pea and you don’t want to see him for a while. I don’t care what you have to say to make it stick, just remember that you’re doing it to protect him.”

“You’ve got my phone.” Jughead says, like a total idiot and he snatches it from Toni’s hand as soon as she holds it out for him. Of course, she fucking has. Just like they have the rest of his stuff stashed away somewhere. His school bag, _his laptop_ , everything he had on him Friday. His fingers tighten around his crappy old cell as he unlocks it and hurriedly checks his texts. There are some from Betty, one or two from Archie, asking where he was Friday, why he missed classes, and one from his dad telling him to have fun on his camping trip and to be careful. And there are _answers_ to those texts. Answers Jughead very much didn’t write himself. Jughead doesn’t know why he feels so betrayed by that. It’s just another invasion of his privacy, another taboo brushed away recklessly and it shouldn’t even surprise him, but it still makes it hard to breathe around the anger rising up in his chest.

“I want my stuff back.” Jughead presses out through clenched teeth, suddenly feeling the urge to take back that small amount of control, at least. To make sure that no-one’s going through his fucking laptop, too, because it’s got all of his writing on it, his stories and his book and it’s _his_. They may be able to take his freedom from him, but he won’t let them have that, too, if he can help it at all.

Toni frowns at him from where she’s standing by the bed and Sweet Pea gets up off the floor and slowly wanders over, leaving Fangs sitting on the carpet by himself. Sweet Pea gives him a hard look and draws up to his full height, a pose meant to be threatening and Jughead can feel his heart skip a beat and then come back doing double time. “Make the fucking call and you can have it.” Sweet Pea growls at him and Jughead has to fight not to flinch at his tone of voice. He grinds his teeth and tightens his grip on his phone until the edges of it dig into his fingers painfully.

“Give me my stuff and I’ll make the call.” He presses out, forcing himself to meet Sweet Pea’s hard gaze. He knows he doesn’t really have much leverage here, he’s at the short end of the stick either way. They already know that he’s going to fold, because what choice does he have? Endanger his dad’s life by not complying? But he can’t fucking help it. He has to _try_ at least.

Sweet Pea huffs angrily at him and takes a jerky step towards the bed. Jughead does flinch this time and he scrambles to scoot back along the mattress until he hits the wall as Sweet Pea advances towards him. But instead of getting onto the bed and reaching for him, Sweet Pea gets to his knees in front of it and starts to jerkily rummage around in the small space underneath until he’s found what he’s looking for. He pulls his arm out and with it Jughead’s school bag. Eyes wide, Jughead leans forward and tries to take it from Sweet Pea, but Sweet Pea gets to his feet and holds it just out of reach.

“Make the fucking call.” Sweet Pea bites out and Jughead drops his hand to the covers at his side, angry and defeated. “Fine. Just – give me a moment.” Jughead balls his hand into a fist around the covers and lets his head thunk back against the wall, defeated. Eyes closed and focused on getting his breathing back to a more normal rhythm. Trying to figure out what he’s going to say to his dad to make this work. He doesn’t fucking want to do it, but he knows that he doesn’t have a choice, not right now.

Jughead takes a deep breath and tries to swallow down the mess of emotion that’s climbing up his throat and making it hard to think. Steeling himself, Jughead presses the speed-dial for his dad’s cell, holds his phone up to his ear and waits. It rings a couple of times before his dad finally picks up and answers, his voice rough but pleased as he speaks. “Jug. How was your camping trip with the Serpents, boy? You going to be home soon?”

“Dad.” Jughead blurts out, too much emotion in that one word, caught off guard by the familiar sound of his dad’s voice, caught off guard by how much it hurts to hear it now, regardless of how prepared he’d thought he was. He knows he fucked up, when his dad pauses on the other line and he can hear the intake of breath that precedes the asking of questions Jughead doesn’t want to, _can’t_ , answer right now. So Jughead makes himself go on, before his dad can get the words out and make this even harder than it already is. “We need to talk, dad. I’m not going to be coming home for a bit, alright?”

“Boy, what are you going on about?” His dad asks him in that brusque, slightly irritated way of his that means he’s worried. Jughead’s fingers tighten around the phone until he the hard plastic creaks dangerously in his grip. He has to play this right, or it won’t work.

“Look, dad, I’m glad you’re back, I really am. But, I – it’s been a rough couple of weeks and I think I just need some space, okay? I know you’re trying and I appreciate that, but it just – it feels like I can’t – like it’s hard to breathe sometimes. Around you. I just need some space, some time to think, to sort things out.” Jughead forces himself to say the words, stuttering and fumbling and he can feel Toni’s, Fangs’ and Sweet Pea’s eyes boring into him as he does, his chest pulling tight and a painful fist clenching around his heart at his dad’s silence on the other end of the line.

“Jug, what’s going on here? You can’t just bail out on me like that. I know I haven’t always been a great dad, but we stick together, right? If there’s something wrong, you talk to me. You don’t just run. I let you walk out on me once, I’m not going to sit by and watch you do it again, boy.” His dad’s words are getting harsher, anger rising up to plot out the worry, the hurt. Jughead knows all of it and he hates it so fucking much.

“I’m talking to you now.” Jughead presses out, makes it sound like he’s struggling, like he’s getting angry, too, when the emotion behind it is nothing but misery. It hurts so much to hear his dad’s voice like this, to have him right at the other end of the phone, so fucking close and still worlds away, completely out of reach. It just drives this whole fucked up mess of a situation home even more thoroughly, even more devastatingly. “Please, just – I promise I’ll be safe, I’m staying with a friend, so you don’t have to worry. Just don’t – don’t try to find me or something. You helped kill one of my classmates and then covered the whole thing up, dad. Focusing on getting you out of prison was something that kept me from thinking about it too much, but now that you’re back, I can’t help it. I can’t stop. I just need some time away from you to figure out what to do with that.”

Jughead can hear the air rush out of his dad’s lungs like someone just punched him in the gut and oh, God, Jughead knows that was a low fucking blow, but he also knows guilting his dad into giving him some space is the only way that’ll work. He can feel his eyes burn dangerously as he waits for his dad’s reply and he thunks his head back against the wall to distract himself.

“That really what you want, son?” His dad’s voice sounds pained, gravelly with emotion and defeat and all Jughead wants to do is tell him no, he didn’t mean it, that he’s so fucking sorry, but he can’t. So he breathes out a quiet “Yeah.” instead, knowing that’ll be the final twist of the knife he just thrust between his dad’s ribs.

“Shit.” Jughead can hear his dad curse on the other end of the line, then a moment passes with just breathing. “As long as you promise to stay safe and that you’ll let me know, if you need anything. Alright?” His dad says, and there’s so much packed into those words. The fist in Jughead’s gut tightens and twists and he bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes copper just to counteract the feeling of it somehow.

“Promise.” Jughead breathes, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’ll call again in a bit. Bye.”

And with that, Jughead pulls the phone away from his ear and ends the call, not wanting to wait for his dad’s response. He sets it down onto the bed and pulls his hands up to press his palms against his eyes, angrily wiping at the wetness there. All he wants to do is curl up and cry like an asshole, but he’s not going to do that with Fangs, Toni and Sweet Pea watching him. He’s not going to give them the fucking satisfaction of seeing him break down like that.

“Happy?” Jughead bites out, being intentionally mean about it as he pulls his hands away from his eyes and glares at them. Both Fangs and Toni have the decency at least to look a little uncomfortable, but Sweet Pea just glowers right back at him, not giving an inch. Toni sighs and bends forward, reaching out for the phone Jughead dropped, wrapping her fingers around it. Jughead grabs her wrist before she can pull back, though, making sure she’s looking at him before he speaks.

“Swear to me that you’ll keep an eye on him. If he – if he does something stupid or – or starts drinking again – you have to –“ Jughead doesn’t even know how to finish that fucking sentence. Because what are they supposed to do, if it comes to that, if his dad deals badly with this and takes a turn for the worse, falling back into old habits? What _are_ they going to do, if this ends up being the tripping point for his dad and everything goes right back to the shit state it was in before? If everything Jughead fought so hard for just vanishes right in front of him, the hope for a better future for his family, for his dad, popped like a fucking bubble?

“We’ll check in on him.” Toni says softly, sincerely, and Jughead lets his hand drop away so that she can pull back, taking his phone with her. He could argue about it, demand to keep it, but he already knows that it would go fucking no-where, they may be kidnappers, but apparently they’re not stupid. And he’s just so fucking tired, he doesn’t have the energy to. All he wants to do is lie down and sleep for a week, sleep through all of the horror and the awfulness and the hurt and not wake up until the pain in his chest has faded down to something that feels manageable again.

“We should probably head out for now. We’ll check back in with you guys tomorrow after school. If anything happens in the mean time, call me.” Toni directs her words at Sweet Pea, one of her hands landing carefully on his elbow as she speaks. Sweet Pea nods curtly and then glances back over to Jughead, his gaze turning contemplative and his face pulling into a frown.

“Wait!” Jughead blurts out like an idiot, unable to stop himself as a fresh wave of despair rises up in him, hating himself for how pathetic he sounds. But he _knows_ what’s going to happen when Toni and Fangs leave him alone with Sweet Pea again. He knows and he can’t help but panic. “You don’t have to go. It’s not that late, yet. And I’m not really that tired either. I still have a lot of questions. And you didn’t really get to start with those lectures you were talking about, so maybe we could –“

He knows he’s grasping at straws, again, but he _has_ to try, at least. Jughead can see Sweet Pea’s hackles rise, though, his teeth showing in a silent snarl as his hands ball into fists at his sides and Toni eventually just cuts him off, once it becomes clear that he’s babbling and just trying to buy himself some more time. “It _is_ late and you _do_ need to rest.” Toni says gently but firmly, her fingers tightening on Sweet Pea’s arm. “And I’ve got some research to do. Sweet Pea and you, you need the time to bond, too. It’s really important. Otherwise the magic won’t be able to settle. I think that might be the reason you’re having trouble right now. So just – try not to fight it so much? You’re in this now, we all are in a way. The sooner you accept that and let things take their natural course, the sooner you’re going to feel better and be able to get out of here again. And that’s what you want, right?”

Jughead swallows roughly around the thick lump rising up in his throat, the sting of salt harsh in his eyes and the blinks it away frantically. They’re not going to help him. Nobody is. He doubts that anybody he knows would be able to, even if they tried. He’s alone and he’s trapped and there’s nothing he can do about it at all. Not now. He digs his finger into the bedding to hide how his hands are shaking as he bites his lower lip until it hurts to keep in the words that are still pushing at the back of his tongue. Begging to be let out, but so useless, so very fucking useless.

Toni grabs her stuff, leaving only the stack of notebooks on the bed behind, and Fangs gets up out of his seat on the carpet to join her. Before they leave, though, Fangs walks up to Sweet Pea and clasps his shoulder, letting himself be pulled into a one-armed hug. “Take care, man.” Fangs murmurs under his breath and Jughead thinks that he probably wasn’t meant to catch that. The moment feels oddly personal. But then Fangs is pulling away from Sweet Pea and turning to step out of the trailer after Toni, throwing one last, unhappy glance back over his shoulder at Jughead and it’s over and done with.

The door falls shut after Fangs and Jughead and Sweet Pea are left alone in the cramped space, the sound loud like a gunshot to Jughead’s frayed nerves, the air around them growing thicker until it feels like Jughead is going to choke on it. Sweet Pea turns towards Jughead, his brows furrowed in a weird mix of confusion and annoyance and Jughead is still on his _bed_. And all at once, Jughead just can’t fucking take it any more. He knows it’s stupid, that he’s not thinking clearly, but it’s like his brain has lost it’s control over his body and his body is moving on its own accord, acting before he has a chance to think.

Pulse racing and breath labored, Jughead scrambles off of the bed and rushes past Sweet Pea, catching Sweet Pea off guard, it seems, because Sweet Pea doesn’t even try to stop him. There’s a split second where Jughead thinks he’s going for the door, but then he doesn’t and he’s standing in front of Sweet Pea’s tiny kitchen counter, tearing open drawers until he finds a knife long and sharp and heavy and his trembling fingers wrap around the handle and he yanks it out of the drawer.

He spins around to face Sweet Pea, knife raised in front of him, pointy end towards Sweet Pea, who’s just standing there staring at Jughead as if Jughead just lost his fucking mind. And he’s probably not even all that wrong, Jughead thinks a tad bit hysterically. Maybe this is fucking useless, maybe a knife like this won’t even leave a scratch on an actual _werewolf_ , but Jughead thinks, if he doesn’t at least make an attempt to do _something_ , instead of just lying there and letting Sweet Pea do what he wants, Jughead is going to break into a million fucking peaces and he’ll never be able to put himself back together again.

Sweet Pea huffs out a breath and glares at Jughead, arms dangling loosely at his sides and teeth showing as his mouth twists up, displeased. He starts walking towards Jughead, slowly, calmly, shoulders squared and eyes hard and Jughead’s breathing like a guy, who just ran a fucking marathon, his heart racing in his throat and his hand shaking so badly it’s a wonder he hasn’t dropped the fucking knife, yet.

“What do you get out of being this fucking difficult?” Sweet Pea growls, like he really doesn’t fucking understand why Jughead is fighting him, eyes flashing golden as he steps closer until his chest comes up against the tip of the knife, right where his heart is and Jughead knows that this is it. If he’s going to do anything at all, this is his chance, this is where he has to act. All it would take is one small thrust forward and he’d be burying the knife between Sweet Pea’s ribs. But for some reason he just – can’t. It’s like his limbs are frozen in place and he can’t make himself do it, regardless of how desperately he wills himself to.

Sweet Pea takes another step forward, then another, the knife sliding against his chest, cutting through his t-shirt and leaving a thin red line behind, a scratch that closes up again almost as quickly as it opens. Until he’s so close to Jughead that their chests are almost touching, Jughead’s hand holding the knife trapped between them. Sweet Pea’s hand closes around Jughead’s wrist, pulls his arm to the side and squeezes until Jughead gasps and his grip loosens, the knife clattering to the carpet uselessly.

Jughead doesn’t think he’s ever hated himself quite this much before. His breath hitches on a sob, as his chest pulls tight and the tears finally spill over, painting wet, ticklish lines across his face. Sweet Pea makes a sound low in his throat and reaches his free hand up to cradle Jughead’s cheek, his thumb wiping at the moisture there as he bends down to press a kiss to Jughead’s lips. Jughead whines around Sweet Pea’s tongue in his mouth, first warmth, then heat rushing through him unbidden, a shivery kind of feeling making his knees go weak and he hates this, too, so fucking much.

Sweet Pea lets go of Jughead’s wrist to pull him in closer, to splay out his hand over the small of Jughead’s back and Jughead can feel the bulge growing at the front of Sweet Pea’s trousers, pressing into Jughead’s lower stomach. Can feel his own blood rush south, no matter how hard he tries to fight it. Sweet Pea nips at his lower lip and then pulls back, his big hands taking hold of the hem of Jughead’s t-shirt and starting to pull it up over Jughead’s head, down his arms. Jughead tries to fight it, but it’s useless, he’s useless, a mess of awkward limbs and fragile bones as Sweet Pea bends him to his will.

Sweet Pea yanks off his own shirt before moving back in to kiss Jughead again, their chests skin to skin, and Jughead can feel that strangeness inside of him slither beneath his skin like liquid heat, like eels in a bucket with no water. Desperate and frantic and _wrong_ and Jughead’s hands land on Sweet Pea’s shoulders, in an attempt to push him away, Jughead thinks messily, but he ends up just clutching at Sweet Pea helplessly. Sweet Pea grabs hold of Jughead’s hips, his hands big and hot, and starts to maneuver Jughead towards the bed again, Sweet Pea’s breathing labored and his kiss growing more and more urgent.

And Jughead feels so lost, the quiet “No” he breathes when Sweet Pea lets up to start pulling at Jughead’s belt buckle barely even there, weak and pathetic and so very fitting. Jughead gasps for breath hopelessly while Sweet Pea pops open the button on his trousers and yanks them down his hips together with his boxers. Stumbles and falls when Sweet Pea shoves him onto the bed, the mattress taking his weight easily, and Sweet Pea bends over him to peel his pants off the rest of the way, together with Jughead’s socks.

Through the dizzying haze in his head, Jughead notes that he’s hard, his dick curving up towards his navel, swollen and angry looking and he feels like he’s not himself anymore, like someone took his mind and shoved it into another person’s body. All strange and wrong and everything filtered through a heated haze. Sweet Pea yanks at his own jeans so roughly Jughead almost expects the material to tear in his grip, but it doesn’t, Sweet Pea gets them off and steps out of them, hard and dangerous all over. Just like before. Just like the first time, and the second time and Jughead’s almost a little shocked to find that he’s still crying.

He scoots clumsily up along the mattress as Sweet Pea climbs onto the bed with him, wraps a hand around one of his ankles and _pulls_ , until Jughead is right where Sweet Pea wants him. Sweet Pea firm and unyielding between Jughead’s thighs as he leans in to kiss Jughead again, stealing away Jughead’s breath until Jughead’s lungs burn with the strain. Fire in his chest and spreading outwards, like he’s being consumed. The back of his neck stings sharply and makes him whine, a throbbing sort of pain, harsh like acid eating away at his skin and Sweet Pea’s dick is sliding against his own, sending sparks of electricity up his spine.

Sweet Pea’s hands slide into Jughead’s hair, dislocating his beanie until it falls off completely and Jughead feels like he can’t breath at all anymore. Sweet Pea growls and whines and his hands are restless, frantic as they map out Jughead’s body wherever he can reach, leaving behind trails of heat that prickle and sting and the fever in Jughead’s blood rises relentlessly, threatening to burn him out and leave nothing behind but a charred husk of a human being and he’s so fucking scared, but it gets lost in the weird haze in his head.

Sweet Pea pulls away from the kiss just long enough to shove three of his fingers into his own mouth, suck at them until they’re wet and glistening with spit and then he reaches around and below. Jughead’s fingers grabbing his wrist and clutching at it as Sweet Pea finds his rim and pushes one thick finger in, the glide smooth and much too easy. Jughead sobs out a strangled ‘ah’ and presses his head back into the covers, eyes screwed shut against the unwanted sensation. Impatient, Sweet Pea pulls out and pushes in a second finger beside the first, making Jughead keen and bite into his lip until the taste of copper blooms across his tongue.

But, to Jughead’s quiet horror, it’s easier than it was yesterday, his body accepting the intrusion more readily, starting to get used to it, fighting it just a little bit less than it did last time. It still burns, it still hurts, but not as much as before and Jughead hates that, too, so very viciously, so very helplessly. Sweet Pea scissors his fingers and shoves in a third, stretching Jughead wide around the thick digits, making Jughead twitch helplessly and sob out a hitching breath, his fingers tightening around Sweet Pea’s wrist hard enough to leave bruises. Sweet Pea’s mouth moves wetly along the straining arch of Jughead’s neck, tongue following the erratic motions of Jughead’s bobbing Adam’s apple, hot and wet and strange.

Sweet Pea pulls out his fingers, leaving Jughead empty and reeling and then Jughead sucks in a startled breath, hit by a sudden, violent sense of vertigo as Sweet Pea pulls him upright and moves him around until he’s straddling Sweet Pea’s lap, Sweet Pea’s back resting against the wall behind him. Jughead’s hands clutch at Sweet Pea’s shoulders, clinging on for dear life while Sweet Pea makes him lift up onto his knees until he can feel the weirdly shaped head of Sweet Pea’s dick nudge up against his bruised rim. Then Sweet Pea’s hands on his hips, strong and inescapable like a fucking vice, push him down, make Jughead sink lower, the head of Sweet Pea’s dick crowding against his ass, building up pressure until it finally slips inside.

The air punched out of his lungs, chest heaving with the strain of it, Jughead wraps his arms around Sweet Pea’s shoulders and clings to him with everything he’s worth, his face pressed into the side of Sweet Pea’s neck. Sobs muffled as Sweet Pea forces him to sink lower, makes him take more of Sweet Pea’s dick, hot like a brand inside of him, hard and unrelenting and so fucking big. Sweet Pea setting the pace of how much Jughead has to take with Jughead’s thighs straining helplessly against Sweet Pea’s hips.

Like this, the pressure feels even more intense than it did last time, and Jughead can feel Sweet Pea low in his stomach, thick and hot, and then that weird shape at the base catches at Jughead’s rim and he sinks his teeth into Sweet Pea’s shoulder against the way it hurts, when it pushes past and into him. Sweet Pea moans, low and rumbling in his chest, the vibrations seeping over into Jughead where they’re pressed together and then Sweet Pea sets up a rhythm, hard and fast and unrelenting and all Jughead can do is cling to him and try to remember how to breathe. His dick is trapped between the two of them, sliding along Sweet Pea’s stomach, sweat-slick skin making it easy and Jughead’s world gets swallowed up in a red-hot haze of pleasure-pain.

All of the places skin slides against skin blotting out every other part of him, his perception narrowing down to the firing, overstimulated nerve endings, electricity running rampant in his veins, pressure building up. The shape at the base of Sweet Pea’s dick growing as Sweet Pea’s moans turn more ragged, his movements more jerky, and with it the pain and the pleasure both. Jughead is burning up, like there’s a furnace trapped in his chest and when he comes it’s such a shock, he can’t hold back the startled yell that claws its way up his throat, stars dancing across his vision.

Sweet Pea moans loudly and buries himself deep as Jughead helplessly clenches down around him, a feeling like bruises blooming inside of him as heat explodes in wet little spurts and the swelling grows until it’s too big to pull back out and Jughead shakes in Sweet Pea’s arms at the feeling, his whole body tension-fraught. Falling apart, helpless as Sweet Pea holds him and the pain of the intrusion slowly but surely overtakes. This part definitely hasn’t gotten any easier, Jughead thinks hopelessly, sucking in breath after shuddering breath as his knuckles turn white on Sweet Pea’s shoulders.

Sweet Pea buries his nose in Jughead’s hair and inhales deeply, hums contentedly as he runs his hands up and down Jughead’s heaving flanks, the gesture meant to be soothing, Jughead thinks vaguely. The world is wrapped into a fever haze, pain laced through it all and Jughead’s not even sure anymore, if he’s still crying, if the wetness on his cheeks are tears or not. Time stretches and morphs until he loses all grasp on it, until it becomes something foreign and horrible and Sweet Pea’s hand wraps around the back of his neck. Big and firm as it presses down over the bite mark.

Jughead feels like he’s drowning in all of it, too much sensation, too much of everything and then Sweet Pea’s hand squeezes harder and it’s like a rubber band being snapped. His whole body goes loose and everything just kind of drains away. The pain and the heat, the tension and the panicky tightness in his chest, the texture of the world around him. He sags in Sweet Pea’s arms helplessly as it all slips away until there’s nothing. Nothing but Sweet Pea’s strong arms cradling him close, nothing but the fever-warmth he’s floating in, and darkness, all around like a thick and heavy blanket.

~*~*~


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here's the next chapter, finally! It somehow turned out to be even _longer_ than the last one... Which is why it took me so darn long to finish. I am sorry for the wait! Hopefully it'll have been worth it. 
> 
> I know it might feel like things are getting a little repetitive, but I hope it's not too intolerable, yet. And the next chapter will definitely mix things up a little more, so there's something to look forward to :)
> 
> As always, thank you for your patience, you're all wonderful! Enjoy <3

~*~*~

Jughead wakes some time during the night, floating in a strange, sickly fever-haze, naked aside form his boxers, same as Sweet Pea, who’s plastered along his back, holding him close. Heat flaring bright where skin touches skin. Sweet Pea shifts, pulled out of sleep by one thing or another that must have alerted him to the fact that Jughead is awake. Sweet Pea grumbles groggily and shakes himself, before letting go of Jughead and climbing over him and off of the bed. Only to return with food, leftovers from his and Fangs’ earlier haul from Pop’s, and a tall glass of water.

Jughead’s head feels clogged up and stuffy and his muscles are achy and weak, making him unusually sluggish when he tries to move. He hurts all over in a dull, muted kind of way, worst between his thighs where he feels sore and bruised in a way that makes his breath catch and his mind go numb. Sweet Pea helps him sit, because Jughead isn’t doing a particularly great job of managing on his own, then makes him eat. The food Jughead used to love so much nothing more than a tasteless mass on his tongue, sliding heavily down into his stomach and sitting there like a stone. All the while heat spreading out along his back, where it’s pressed up against Sweet Pea’s bare chest, Sweet Pea’s arms wrapped around him securely to hold him up, the feverish fog in his head growing denser, overwhelming and heavy until Jughead’s barely even aware of what he’s doing anymore .

The water, though, that’s good and Jughead gulps it down like he’s dying of thirst. Cool and soothing as it slides down his sore throat. But even that little bit of relief fades away quickly enough and he sinks back into that overheated haze after only a few heartbeats, swallowed up by it. Sweet Pea makes Jughead lie back down with him and Jughead just lets him. His head is spinning and he feels like he’s floating in this feeling of slowly burning up from the inside out in a way that makes him think vaguely of that horrible experiment they had to do in Biology in 10th grade that one time, of the frog and the water.

How, when they’d put it into hot water directly, it’d jumped out right away, realizing the danger, but when they’d sat it in a bowl of cool water and then turned the heat up slowly but steadily it hadn’t notice until it was too late. It’d just _s_ _a_ _t_ there while it was slowly being cooked alive. Jughead had felt awful, after, outwardly cynical and tough about it, but opting to have lunch alone behind the bleachers later, just so that no-one would see how wet his eyes were. He may have a bit of an unhealthy fascination with crime and murder, with all things dark and sinister about the human psyche, but the thought of hurting an innocent himself, that still makes him feel sick to his stomach.

He’s too fucking soft. At least that’s what his dad, what everyone keeps telling him. But all thinking of his dad does now is _hurt_ , so he lets go of those particular memories quickly enough. And it’s so much harder trying to hold onto a thought than it is to let it slip away anyway, the furnace underneath his skin burning them to a crisp almost before they’ve had a chance to fully form.

Even with the dread curled tightly in his stomach, even with the way Sweet Pea’s closeness makes his skin crawl and the wrongness in his chest writhe and slither like a living thing, even with the way he hurts, Jughead is too tired to keep himself awake for long. He sinks back into a deep, dreamless sleep pretty much as soon as his eyes slip shut.

~*~*~

The next time Jughead wakes, just the barest hints of dawn filtering in through the windows of the trailer, he feels just as miserable as he had before, like he’s got the worst kind of head cold. Achy all over, too hot and too cold at the same time, his vision blurry and his thoughts sluggish, and he scrambles out of Sweet Pea’s arms and off of the bed clumsily when a fresh wave of nausea hits him. Barely makes it into the bathroom in time before he’s heaving up his guts, hot and acidic as it rushes across his tongue. This time, the mess in the toilet bowl contains a lot more of that weird black stuff than it had last time. A thick, bitter goo that burns up his throat and makes him choke. Slithery like tar as it floats around in the water, writhing and twisting until it almost looks like it’s got a life of its own.

He reaches up for the handle and flushes, sits there on his bruised knees and watches numbly as it swirls down the drain and disappears like it was never there in the first place. It’s not fucking normal, that much is obvious. He _knows_ it’s not, it’s pretty damn hard to miss. He can feel that it isn’t with every fiber of his being. But what the Hell is he supposed to do about it, when it feels like he has no power to do anything of consequence at all right now? And whatever’s happening to him, it’s getting worse, too, this slow process of being taken over, an invasion, body and soul, rotten and fucked up and he knows he has to keep fighting it, but he’s honestly not sure how much longer he’ll be able to last. How much more he’s got left in him. It’s only been a little over two fucking days, but it already feels like it’s been months.

With shaky limbs Jughead uses the toilet as a handhold and pulls himself back up onto his feet. When he glances over to the sink, his toothbrush is sitting there, in a cup together with Sweet Pea’s. So that’s where that went, he thinks, numbness settling into his bones as he stares at it. It looks normal. Like it belongs there. Like it’s part of a different reality, where the mundane is still firmly intact and all of the horror and the awfulness Jughead has lived through over the course of the last couple of days is just some fragmented nightmare that should dissipate as soon as he opens his eyes, like it’s part of a world where monsters and magic and ghosts and what the fuck else are still just figments of imagination and nothing more. It makes him wonder, for a confusing moment, whether he’s actually just loosing his fucking mind, whether he’s been mistaken about the reality he’s living in now and none of this is actually happening.

But the ache in his body, when he moves, the fever in his blood, they tell a different story, blurring the edges of the world around him, but leaving it no less _real_. He doesn’t know what time it is, it’s still fucking early, he can tell that much by the quality of the barely there light after a glance out of the tiny bathroom window high up on the wall, but then again, does it really even matter? He grabs his toothbrush from its cup, squeezes too much toothpaste onto it with unsteady hands and jerkily scrubs at his teeth and tongue until his gums start to bleed and the taste of vomit and the inexplicable bitterness mixed into it are finally gone. Washing it all away after he spits the last remnants of pink and black tinted toothpaste into the sink.

For a moment he stands there weighing his options blearily, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Flushed, but sickly pale underneath, the dark half-circles under his eyes standing out starkly, his eyes duller than he remembers them being, a tiredness, a quiet sort of hopelessness and despair that didn’t used to be there, not like this, staring back at him. Scabbed over indents in the form of his front teeth in his bottom lip where he’d bitten it too hard last night, when Sweet Pea’d fucked him, the bruise on the sight of his neck still starkly visible, even though it’s gone from a deep purple-blue to an ugly green-brown with yellowed out edges.

It feels a little like looking at a ghost, at someone who’s too fucking close to giving up and he clenches his teeth until the muscles in his jaw ache, draws on the anger he knows lives in his chest, that he’s been carrying around with him for as long as he can think, makes it rise just to see some life, some fire return to those eyes. Just to make himself remember that he’s not fucking dead, yet. He only manages for a moment, before the tiredness, the lead in his bones, the heavy fog of the fever in his mind, pulls him back in, pulls him back under, but it still makes him feel better, it still means more than he can easily explain.

He could shower, he thinks numbly, he probably should. At least try to wash away the stain of last night, the remnants of Sweet Pea’s touch. Take some of the fever-haze away with it. But the thought alone of mustering the energy necessary to go through with those motions makes him feel even more tired, heavy in a hopeless sort of way, and he just doesn’t think he _can_. The last thing Jughead wants is to go back out there, though, to crawl back into that fucking bed with Sweet Pea. Everything inside of him rebels at the thought, the achy muscles in his body tensing up until it hurts, his poor stomach cramping painfully even though there’s nothing left _to_ throw up.

He’s too hot and too cold at the same time, achy and miserable in nothing but his boxers and so fucking tired he doesn’t even know anymore, so he takes a seat on the closed lid of the toilet, lets himself sink onto it gracelessly and leans back until his head rests against the cool tiles behind him. Lets his eyes slip shut, just for a moment, just a tiny bit of rest, of reprieve, his arms coming up to wrap around his chest as he sits there shivering, sinking into the feverish haze in his head instead of fighting it, letting himself float in it like a ship at sea, something just underneath his skin writhing and twisting sluggishly as he does, the wrongness he’s becoming more and more familiar with spreading slowly like an illness.

The bathroom door being pulled open jerks Jughead out of his daze harshly and he clumsily pulls himself upright where he’d started to slip in his seat, startled to find that he’d almost managed to drift off there for a second. When he glances up, he can see Sweet Pea standing in the door frame, his frowning, unhappy face strangely blurred and Jughead should probably get the Hell up, make himself move, make himself less vulnerable than he feels right now, but he just can’t seem to manage even that much. What a sad excuse for anything, a mean little voice in the back of his head murmurs bitterly.

Sweet Pea’s teeth flash white and he grumbles something under his breath that sounds pretty rude, even though Jughead’s addled mind can’t quite manage to distinguish the words. And then he’s stepping into the bathroom, towards Jughead, bending down and reaching for him, one hand closing around Jughead’s wrist as he starts to pull Jughead to his feet. Jughead tries to avoid him, but predictably fails, weak and ungainly as he is and he can’t quite swallow down the sound of distress that slips out at the way Sweet Pea manhandles him.

Sweet Pea doesn’t let himself be deterred, doesn’t bother to grace Jughead’s weak protests with a reaction at all. Just slings Jughead’s arm over his shoulders and straightens up. Then slips his own arms underneath Jughead’s knees and around his back, lifts him up as if he weighs nothing at all. Jughead gasps at the sudden sense of vertigo that hits him and finds himself clinging tighter to Sweet Pea’s shoulders reflexively. Sweet Pea’s skin feels hot to the touch, radiating warmth, and it feeds into the fever in Jughead’s veins, chasing away some of the strange, shivery chill, making it better and so much worse at the same time.

Sweet Pea buries his nose in Jughead’s hair, nuzzles into him and inhales deeply, his chest expanding with the motion and Jughead hates the way he wants to bury closer to his warmth, hates everything about this, because a vital part of him still remembers that he’s supposed to. Because that’s still so fucking important. Sweet Pea carries him out of the bathroom and back to the bed, climbs onto the mattress with Jughead in his arms before he sets him down carefully. And Jughead is so grateful to be let go, but at the same time he can’t help but shiver at the loss of warmth.

He must have made some kind of sound again, because Sweet Pea hushes him as Sweet Pea’s hand lands on Jughead’s fever-warm forehead, fingers sliding into his hair and across his eyebrows in a way that Jughead thinks is meant to be soothing. Jughead grits his teeth and forces himself to tilt his head to the side until Sweet Pea’s hand falls away again. Huffing out in irritation, Sweet Pea frowns at him and shakes his head, before crawling under the covers and pulling the blanket up over the both of them. Then scoots in and pushes Jughead around until Jughead is lying on his side and Sweet Pea can spoon up behind him and gather him in his arms, Jughead’s back pressed tightly up against Sweet Pea’s chest, touching from their shoulders almost all the way down to Jughead’s toes.

Sweet Pea feels like a small furnace behind him and it takes almost no time at all to chase away the last of the chill and leave Jughead with nothing but the rising fever in his blood, feeling overheated. One of Sweet Pea’s hands splays wide and possessive across Jughead’s stomach, just above his navel and the other has wrapped around Jughead’s shoulder where Sweet Pea’s arm is like an iron band across his chest, utterly immovable and Jughead feels trapped. The hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms and legs prickling upright and forming goose flesh as he shivers helplessly. A lump forming in his throat and his heart beating faster, revulsion pulling his chest tight, and the fever makes everything feel washed out and faded and strangely more intense the same time.

It almost makes it seem like he’s dreaming the whole thing, like he’s trapped in a frighteningly vivid nightmare he cannot escape from, no matter how much he wants to and that distorting sense of not-reality leaves him reeling. Sweet Pea draws the tip of his nose along the back of Jughead’s neck ticklishly, tracing the outline of the bite, making Jughead’s skin burn uncomfortably. Sweet Pea shifts his hips forward minutely, Sweet Pea’s hands on him tightening as Sweet Pea sucks in a breath and oh, of course, of course _that’s_ where this is fucking going, Jughead thinks, tears springing to the corners of his eyes unbidden, the soreness from just a couple of hours ago still much too prominent as it is. He’ll be damned, if he’ll just let Sweet Pea, though, no matter how weak he feels. It’s a fight he already knows he can’t win, but one he knows with just as much conviction he needs to put up none the less. For the sake of his own waning sanity.

Jughead twists in Sweet Pea’s grip, pushes against him, digs his fingers into Sweet Pea’s arms as hard as he can and Sweet Pea reacts by pressing his mouth against Jughead’s nape, lips pulled back to lay bare two rows of smooth, sharp teeth and growls at Jughead. Low and dangerous, a warning that makes Jughead’s breath come quicker and his hands shake where they’re clutching at Sweet Pea’s arms. Panic twists hotly in his gut and he’s so fucking tired of being afraid, the strain of the constant fear eating away at him and he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to take this, how much more he can endure before it becomes _too much,_ before it turns into something he won’t be able to come back from.

But then again, a bitter, angry part of him thinks through the thick fog in his head, he’d had his chance to do something about it last night, hadn’t he? He’d held a fucking knife in his hands and he hadn’t used it, he’d been too much of a coward to actually go through with it, scared and weak like he’d never wanted to be again. And maybe that really does make it his fault, the fact that he’s still here, that this is happening now. A horrible, devastating kind of defeat. Sweet Pea’s hand on his stomach moves lower lazily, his thumb drawing little circles across Jughead’s skin, his fingers pressing into the shivering muscles underneath as he takes his time to map Jughead out. To dip his thumb into Jughead’s navel as he passes, draw the tips of his fingers through the soft line of dark hair that leads down from there and disappears beneath the waistband of Jughead’s boxers, Jughead’s grip tightening until his fingers ache where he’s circling Sweet Pea’s wrist, the muscles in his arm straining, but to no avail at all.

Sweet Pea’s hips shift against Jughead’s ass and Jughead can feel him starting to swell, to grow hard, through the thin, barely there layers of the cloth of their underwear, the rise and fall of Sweet Pea’s chest where it’s pressed against Jughead’s back picking up as his breathing begins to speed. The hand Sweet Pea’s got curled around Jughead’s shoulder shifts and moves in a ticklish line up to Jughead’s neck, cupping his throat and tilting his head back further against Sweet Pea’s shoulder, the tips of his fingers sliding across the soft, vulnerable stretch of skin just beneath Jughead’s ear. Moving Jughead around so that Sweet Pea can better mouth along the side of his neck, down to where it curves into his shoulder, leaving behind prickling trails of heat where his lips brush Jughead’s skin and making Jughead shudder and gasp.

Sweet Pea’s palm brushes the waistband of Jughead’s boxers, his little finger slipping underneath just so and Jughead is too worn out, too stretched thin to hold back the whine that slips out, blood rushing south without his consent. “ _Stop_.” Jughead finally blurts out, breathing too quickly, unable to hold it back any longer, his voice high and weak, too much like begging, just another thing to highlight his own helplessness and, God, he wants to take it back as soon as it’s out. Because he already knows it’s not going to do him any good at all. Sweet Pea’s proven that he doesn’t give a shit about what Jughead wants more than once already.

Sweet Pea huffs out an annoyed breath, the puff of air hot and ticklish where it gusts against the side of Jughead’s neck, making him wince in Sweet Pea’s arms. “You’re the most stubborn fucking person I know.” Sweet Pea growls at him, accusing almost, chest rumbling with it where its pressed up against Jughead’s back and that makes it feel like the sound vibrates through Jughead’s own chest just the same, the foreign thing inside of him coming alive at the sensation. Sweet Pea’s hips push forward, the hard, hot length in his boxers grinding against Jughead’s ass and at the same time, Sweet Pea’s hand slips beneath the waistband of Jughead’s underwear and his fingers wrap tightly around Jughead’s half-hard dick, making Jughead suck in a sharp breath through his teeth. Hips involuntarily canting into the touch. “It’d be so much easier for both of us, if you’d just relax, lean back and enjoy yourself. All your doing is making yourself miserable. All that fighting, all that suffering and for what? Why is it so hard for you to accept this and give in?”

‘Why’, Jughead thinks, the world around him spinning dizzyingly as Sweet Pea slowly jerks him to full hardness in his boxers, Sweet Pea’s hand big and strong and warm on him, the unwanted pleasure of it making his head swim and the tips of his fingers tingle where they’re digging into Sweet Pea’s forearms. Why? Jughead tries to keep his teeth clenched tightly, tries to keep in the little noises that want to escape as his body begins to light up with those involuntary sparks, with that electric heat that crawls across his skin wherever Sweet Pea is touching him, something underneath straining towards it eagerly. But soon enough his mouth falls open of its own accord and the sound of his panting breaths, of the soft little gasps and choked off ‘ah’s start to chase away the quiet around them.

Why?

Because he doesn’t fucking want this, that’s why, Jughead thinks frantic and dazed, but God, it’s getting harder and harder to hold onto that every time this happens. Because he’s hard and leaking in Sweet Pea’s expert grip, like Sweet Pea knows exactly how to touch him to break him down, and it still feels _wrong_ , Sweet Pea’s hands on him, but at the same time, it feels so fucking good, too. There’s none of the urgency from last night left in the way Sweet Pea moves now, his motions languid and lazy as he takes his time to explore Jughead, to map him out bit by bit and all Jughead can do is cling to Sweet Pea as he slowly burns up from the inside out underneath Sweet Pea’s palms.

Sweet Pea’s mouth moves back to Jughead’s nape, his lips pulling back and his teeth closing over the bite mark there, pressing down until something inside of Jughead snaps, like an anchor line being cut and suddenly Jughead really is float, surrounded by a thick haze of heat and pleasure. There’s something else in that haze with him, though, something dark and vicious, something dangerous, floating just beneath the surface, writhing along with Jughead’s accelerated pulse, growing as it does. Sweet Pea’s hand moves away from his throat as Sweet Pea pulls back his teeth and presses a kiss to the bite mark, his palm sliding to Jughead’s chest, pressing down over Jughead’s fluttering heart. Sweet Pea’s fingers brushing a peaked nipple and sending sparks shooting through his stomach to pool hot and electric low in his belly.

Jughead moans helplessly and squeezes his eyes shut, trying and failing to fight off the sensations, presses his face into the mattress, where wet spots slowly begin to soak through, the tears almost cool against his overheated skin. Sweet Pea’s hand on him speeds up its lazy jerks, the precome that’s begun to gather at the tip of Jughead’s dick making it slick and easy and somehow Sweet Pea’s figuring out exactly what Jughead likes, when he’s touching himself, how to twist his wrist just so on the upward strokes, how to squeeze around the sensitive head before moving back down. And Jughead is so close already, his toes curling and his hips jerking into Sweet Pea’s touch, chasing after it of their own accord and Jughead presses his open, panting mouth against the mattress to try and stifle his moans, feeling overwhelmed and helpless.

Jughead’s so close he can fucking _taste_ it, everything inside of him curling up with that familiar rising tension, when Sweet Pea whines against the back of his neck and pulls his hand away, leaving Jughead achingly hard and feeling bereft, reeling with the sudden loss of his touch. Jughead’s fingers dig harshly into Sweet Pea’s arms and he bites his lip hard enough to reopen the scabbed over cuts there just to keep himself from speaking, from asking Sweet Pea to _touch him again_. Because that tiny part of himself that’s still intact in the midst of this smothering haze, that’s still clinging to sanity desperately, is whispering at him frantically, begging him to remember who he is, why he hates this, why he can’t.

With a grip that’s careful but firm and undeniable, Sweet Pea peals Jughead’s hands away from his arms, then reaches down and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Jughead’s boxers, peals those away, too, Jughead’s achingly hard dick springing free to curl up towards the dark line of hair on the soft stretch of skin below his belly button. Jughead has to clench his hands into tightly furled fists to stop himself from reaching, from touching himself and ending this, because like Hell he’ll let himself be made complicit in any of it, no matter how badly he’s aching with the need to come.

Once he’s fully naked, Sweet Pea’s big hands wrap around Jughead’s hips and push at him until he can roll Jughead onto his stomach, effectively trapping Jughead’s leaking dick between his belly and the mattress. Jughead bites back on a frustrated sob at the pressure-no-friction-hell that traps him in, at the way Sweet Pea presses his hips back down, when Jughead tries to lift them even the slightest bit, a warning growl rising up in his throat. And Jughead has no choice, but to let him, when Sweet Pea’s hand moves away from his hip, glides hotly across one of Jughead’s ass cheeks, then down his thigh and to his knee, where Sweet Pea uses his grip to push Jughead’s leg up and to the side until it’s lying bent on the mattress, opening Jughead up wide for Sweet Pea, making him feel exposed and even more vulnerable in a horrible kind of way.

When Sweet Pea leans back in, his boxers are gone, too, his big dick sliding hotly along the crack of Jughead’s ass as Sweet Pea drapes himself over Jughead’s back, presses Jughead into the mattress more firmly, trapping him hopelessly. And this is where Jughead expects the gentleness to stop and the urgency, to take over again, steeling himself for the roughness of Sweet Pea fucking him , his chest pulling tight and panic fluttering brightly as tension weaves through his muscles until he’s trembling with it. Because he can’t move at all like this, not one bit, and it only serves to drive home even more harshly what he already knows, that there’s not a fucking thing he can do, that he has no control whatsoever over any of this, that he won’t be able to stop Sweet Pea regardless of how Sweet Pea intends to hurt him.

But to Jughead’s quiet shock, his expectations aren’t met. Sweet Pea hums at him, low and soothing, fingers carding through Jughead’s hair and sliding across his scalp as Sweet Pea leans close to his ear. Breathes “Relax.” in his deep and rumbling voice, his other hand coming up to cover one of Jughead’s where it’s fisted tightly around the covers, clinging on for dear life as Sweet Pea’s hips set up a slow, wave-like back and forth motion, the slide of Sweet Pea’s dick along Jughead’s crack aided by precome and sweat, a slick glide that has Jughead’s breath hitching every time the tip of Sweet Pea’s dick catches ever so lightly on his still sore rim. “Just – let it happen. Don’t fight it. _Trust_ me.”

And, God, Jughead hates Sweet Pea so fucking much, he barely managed to bite back on the bitter, incredulous laugh that wants to claw its way up his throat. But, what Jughead hates even more is how he can feel the fractures running through his resistance. That tiny part of himself, bone tired and stretched too thin, that wants to sink into that offered comfort, how ever false and treacherous it is, that wants to lean into Sweet Pea’s touch. That whispering little voice at the back of his head telling him that maybe Sweet Pea’s right, that it’d all be so much easier, if he just gave in. But he _can’t,_ he _knows_ that, he _needs_ to remember that. Jughead bites down on his tongue and uses the pain to pull himself back in, uses it as an anchor to remind himself why he’s fighting this, why it’s so fucking important to not give up, to not give in.

When the tip of Sweet Pea’s dick begins to crowd against his rim, slowly starting to build up pressure, Jughead tenses up even more, musters what little resistance he can, regardless of how futile it might be, regardless of how hard it is to hold onto that thought with the thick haze all around, his mind slow like it’s filled with heated molasses. Jughead knows it won’t stop Sweet Pea, but maybe if he can make Sweet Pea hurt him, it’ll be easier to take, easier to compartmentalize, easier to hate. Sweet pea notices, if the low, frustrated growl and the tightening of his hands on Jughead is any indicator at all. And that’s something, that’s something to cling to in the midst of this suffocating mess. Sweet Pea leans back a little, pulls his hand away from Jughead’s hair and for a dizzying moment, before he catches himself again, Jughead’s not sure, if he’s supposed to feel relieved or disconcerted.

Then there’s the sound of spitting and Sweet Pea leans back in, covering Jughead and pressing him down harder again, his hand moving lower until his slicked up fingers graze Jughead’s tightly furled rim. Jughead presses his forehead into the mattress and stifles a whine at the feel of it, grunts, then gasps, when Sweet Pea pushes in, two fingers at once and Jughead’s body takes it despite the strain, the tension in his muscles, the soreness, making it hurt, making it too much too soon. Sweet Pea’s teeth return to Jughead’s nape, biting down until it feels like he’s just a hairs’ breath away from breaking the skin again, heat rushing through Jughead and punching a sob out of him and the next thing he knows the tension just drains away, like a plug being pulled, leaving his muscles lax and soft and not his anymore, just the way it had before.

Leaving behind a horrible sort of weightlessness, the only thing solid left in him the wrongness clenched tightly in his chest, writhing and twisting in protest as he’s swallowed up by heat and fog, floating around in it like a ship unmoored. Sweet Pea’s fingers in him no longer hurt, there’s just the dull ache of being stretched, the weird sensation of being filled, of having something inside of him, nerve endings firing, sending sparks racing up his spine and his dick throbs desperately where it’s trapped between the mattress and his belly, still achingly hard despite all of it. Sweet Pea’s teeth loosen their clasp and his tongue darts out to lap at the healing wound as he scissors his fingers and makes Jughead gasp and moan at the slight burn of it.

Apparently satisfied, Sweet Pea pulls out his fingers to grip Jughead’s hip and hold him still again, the tip of his dick returning. This time, when Sweet Pea thrusts his hips forward in careful little motions, the resistance Jughead’s body puts up is a barely there thing and Sweet Pea slips in almost too easily. And Sweet Pea just keeps going, pushes in slow and steady, filling him up bit by bit, until the weird swelling at the base of his dick presses up against Jughead’s ass and Sweet Pea halts, instead of shoving that in, too, like he had the last times. Sweet Pea is still fucking big, though, even without that, a hot, hard length inside of Jughead, stretching him wide, opening him up against his will, the slowness of Sweet Pea’s movements making everything feel heightened, more solid, more pronounced and that just makes it all so much worse. Jughead’s fingers clench harder around the sheets, the material straining in his grip as he tries to breath through the feeling, the intensity of it, his world narrowing down to Sweet Pea inside of him, to that claim that Sweet Pea is laying to Jughead’s body without his consent.

Mouthing lazily along Jughead’s shoulder, leaving playful little nips that make Jughead flinch involuntarily, Sweet Pea pulls out until there’s only the tip of his dick left inside of Jughead and then pushes back in, slow and purposeful, so very different from the frantic fucking of before. The unhurried, deliberate slide of Sweet Pea’s dick inside of him feels so much more intimate, Jughead’s nerve endings hyper sensitive to every one of Sweet Pea’s motions, every little shift and slide, to the way Sweet Pea deliberately rubs across Jughead’s prostate with every thrust, the pleasure that thrums underneath Jughead’s skin a calculated tease, something that builds, slowly but inescapably. Little shocks that feed into the pool of shivery heat coiled low in his stomach where his dick throbs desperately with it, with every slow thrust of Sweet Pea’s hips, the pressure building steadily but with no way to find release, trapped as he is.

Sweet Pea is merciless about the way he fucks Jughead, sticks to that maddening rhythm of his that keeps Jughead teetering on the edge, but doesn’t let him tumble over, keeps him suspended in that pleasure-haze, overwhelmed and lost, too much and not enough at the same time. Jughead presses his mouth against the mattress to stifle the sounds Sweet Pea is forcing out of him, the soft little moans, the hitching breaths and quiet sobs, the rising frustration that has his head spinning and his thoughts shattering into a million shiny little pieces. Face burning with shame, the need to come so bad it crowds out everything else, Jughead tries to shift his hips, tries to get even the tiniest bit of friction on his dick, anything to get him there, to end this, but Sweet Pea doesn’t let him. Bears down with more of his weight and pins Jughead in place, leaves him no room to move at all while Sweet Pea keeps fucking him just like that.

Jughead’s panting helplessly, the tears slipping from the corners of his tightly shut eyes born of frustration rather than pain, a quiet kind of humiliation that cuts all the more deep for it, because he’s so achingly hard, so fucking close it _hurts_ and he’s kind of scared that the heat and the pressure are going to consume him completely, if he doesn’t do something about it. Like soon this is all that will be left of him, a mess of need and despair, the worst kind of torture, and all Jughead wants is for it to _end_. He just so musters enough coordination, enough coherency, to untangle the fingers of one of his hands from the sheets and move it lower, try to shove it beneath himself and reach for his throbbing dick, but Sweet Pea growls at him and stops him before he can get there. Sweet Pea’s fingers circle around Jughead’s wrist and move it back up to where it was before, presses it down into the mattress and does not budge no matter how Jughead whines and pulls at his grip, a sob stuck in his throat and threatening to make him choke.

“Tell me what you want. Say it.” Sweet Pea’s voice rumbles through Jughead, low and strained, a blatant order, as Sweet Pea continues to fuck into him, his pace unwavering and this is – Jughead doesn’t know how to, how to take it. It feels like Sweet Pea’s touching parts of Jughead, parts buried deep and guarded viciously, that he hadn’t been able to reach before and Jughead can’t even explain _why,_ he’s too far gone for that, reduced to this overload of sensation, too intense, too much and he really needs it to stop so baldy. Every touch, every slide of skin against skin seems heightened to the point of being so good it’s almost-painful, and Jughead feels like he’s suffocating in it, tendrils of something vile and ugly snaking through him just underneath.

He shakes his head miserably, strains harder against Sweet Pea’s steel-band-like grip, but all to no avail, because Sweet Pea doesn’t budge, doesn’t let up at all. Sweet Pea’s set his mind to something and he won’t stop until he’s gotten it, Jughead thinks in his haze of unwanted pleasure and despair, sobbing helplessly into the mattress. Because he _can’t_ , he can’t keep fighting this, he needs to come so fucking badly, he needs this to _stop_ or he thinks he might just lose his fucking mind for good.

“Please.” The word claws its way up Jughead’s throat violently and he tries to hold it back, to press his lips shut against it, to clench his teeth and keep it in, but he can’t, there’s too much pent up pressure behind it. His voice sounds miserable and desperate, needy in the worst sort of way and it’s like he can feel something inside of him fracture the moment it comes out of his mouth. Something vital and precious he won’t be able to repair. His eyes burn furiously, the tears on his face turning sticky and viscous and he’s shaking all over with the strain of it, the involuntarily sounds he’s making, moans and gasps and whines, rising in volume steadily.

“Please what?” Sweet Pea hums against the side of Jughead’s neck, the motion of his hips slowing even more, becoming even more torturous, even more deliberate. Jughead can feel all of him, every inch of him and all Jughead wants to do is crawl out of his own skin, he can’t fucking _take it_ any more. And that’s where he breaks, something in his chest snapping like a dam that ruptures and suddenly there’s no stopping the flood of words that breaks loose anymore, nothing left but this horrible urgency.

“Please, I need to – I need to come, just let me – I can’t – please, please, please –“ Jughead’s babbling, his tongue clumsy as it tries to wrap itself around the syllables and fails, the words rushing out too quickly to articulate them properly, his thoughts a jumbled mess he doesn’t have the capacity to filter, and he doesn’t even fucking care anymore, nothing matters but this, but his need to escape this. And with a satisfied groan, Sweet Pea finally takes mercy on him, nipping at the back of Jughead’s neck and then running his tongue over the spot, as if to soothe the sting of it as he basks in Jughead’s forced surrender.

Sweet Pea lets go of Jughead’s wrist, lifts off of him in one smooth motion and then grabs Jughead’s hips and pulls Jughead up onto his elbows and knees quickly enough to give Jughead vertigo, before he’s shoving back in, this time all the way to the hilt, the swelling included, knocking the air right out of Jughead’s straining lungs. But Jughead hardly even register the pain of it as Sweet Pea nails his prostate, stars exploding in front of his closed eyelids and a startled yell slipping past his bruised lips. And that’s all it takes, Sweet Pea doesn’t even have to touch him, Jughead’s already tumbling over the edge, white-hot pleasure washing through him as his dick pulses and dribbles come all over the sheets beneath him. Shaking apart as Sweet Pea fucks into him a couple more times and shoves deep before going still above him, wet heat exploding inside of Jughead and sending spark after spark of aftershocks through his poor oversensitive nerve endings, his whole body lighting up with it, so intense it’s almost painful, as Sweet Pea moans roughly.

Panting helplessly, Jughead collapses in Sweet Pea’s arms, Sweet Pea’s grip on him the only thing holding him up and as soon as the pleasure begins to fade, the pain sets back in, leaving no room for the relief Jughead had hoped to find so badly. The ache of Sweet Pea inside of him, that weird shape at the base of Sweet Pea’s dick stretching Jughead too wide, bruising the tissue around it, and after the intensity of his orgasm, this too feels so much more real, so much more overwhelming. Dizzy and overexerted, and he sobs with it, his overheated face pressed into the crook of his elbow, the urge to hide himself away bitter and useless.

Because what is there left to hide? What’s left that Sweet Pea hasn’t seen or touched in some way already? What is there that Sweet Pea hasn’t taken from him, yet? The temptation to sink into that despair, to give up and let it swallow him is so fucking strong and he’s so God damn tired, but there’s still a tiny part of Jughead that whispers softly at the back of his mind. That tries desperately to remind him that he can’t do that, that he needs to hold on, keep fighting in whatever way he can manage, no matter how seemingly insignificant. A small part of him still remembers that, even in the midst of this haze of fever and pain, even strung out and cracked open and hopeless as he feels right now.

Breathing hard, but slowly calming, Sweet Pea groans and wraps his arms around Jughead’s chest, then slowly lowers them onto their sides next to the wet spot on the sheets. The movements make the shape at the base of Sweet Pea’s dick tug at Jughead’s sore rim and he doesn’t even try to hold back the pained whine that slips out through his clenched teeth. Sweet Pea shushes him, one hand reaching up to brush Jughead’s bangs away from where they’ve stuck themselves messily to his sweat-damp forehead, the other splayed out possessively low on Jughead’s belly and Sweet Pea buries his nose against the back of Jughead’s head, breathing him in.

Jughead hates this part so fucking much, the pain of it so hard to bear because of how intimate it is, the way he feels too full, like this should be more than his body can safely handle and the panic that flits just beneath the surface of that thought, the forced closeness of it. The gentleness of Sweet Pea’s touch now that he’s sated and happy, the way Jughead’s body can’t decide whether it wants to lean into it or shy away from it, desperate for any sort of comfort in this state of his and repulsed by it just the same. It’s messy and confusing and too fucking much and Jughead doesn’t feel equipped to deal with any of it. He shouldn’t _have_ to. But here he is none the less, because when is life ever about being fucking fair? Especially in this new, terrifying world of darkness he’s been tossed into so harshly.

Jughead raises one of his hands up to his mouth and sinks his teeth into the flesh of his palm, tries to use a different, easier to take, kind of pain to distract himself from the the way it hurts to have Sweet Pea inside of him like this, from that deep, too intimate ache that throbs and radiates out into his thighs from where they’re joined. His chest rising and falling in a fluttery, uneven rhythm as he fights through it, as he does his best to not dwell on his complete lack of control over the situation, to not let the panic held tightly in his chest bubble out of control and overtake.

Sweet Pea’s hand on his stomach twitches and presses down, as if he’s trying to feel himself, making Jughead all the more aware of the hard, hot shape of Sweet Pea buried deep and it pulls another miserable whine from him, his free hand wrapping around Sweet Pea’s wrist to keep him still. Sweet Pea groans behind him, his breath a hot puff of air against the side of Jughead’s neck, sending a shudder through him. “Shh, you can take it. You’re doing so good.” Sweet Pea murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of Jughead’s ear just so, making him shudder and suck in another hitching breath. “You’re being so good for me.”

A part of Jughead strains at the words, at the praise, because he’s so starved for it he’ll never not be weak for it, no matter how hard he tries to pretend otherwise, but at the same time something bitter and twisted surges up in him in response. Something that makes him want to claw through Sweet Pea’s skin, make him bleed, make him hurt the way Sweet Pea’s doing with Jughead now, vicious and mean. Anger bubbling harshly through his veins. His eyes sting harder as they leak and when Jughead carefully opens them, there’s a weird, black sheen distorting his vision. He blinks a couple of times to clear them, but it doesn’t work.

So he just, he squeezes them shut again and tries to ignore it, bites harder into his hand to blend out everything else, his nostrils billowing with his ragged breaths. Sweet Pea shifts behind him, making Jughead choke back a sob at the way even that small movement hurts, and then Sweet Pea’s palm is cradling his cheek, fingers dragging through the sticky mess there. “What the Hell?” Sweet Pea murmurs under his breath and Jughead thinks he can hear actual concern through the thick haze of fever and sharp discomfort he’s trapped in. Sweet Pea gathers Jughead closer, wraps his arms around him more securely, as if he actually thinks that’s going to help instead of making it all feel so much worse, but Jughead can’t find the energy it would take to open his mouth and tell him. Can’t find the energy to do much else but desperately try to push through this any way that he can.

“Fuck, stop that.” Sweet Pea’s voice is rough with annoyance, but his hands are still so infuriatingly gentle, when he reaches out to pry Jughead’s mouth open, loosen the clasp of his teeth enough so that he can free Jughead’s palm. He leans in to press a kiss to the angrily throbbing marks there, then places it onto the mattress near Jughead’s head carefully so he can cradle Jughead’s face and turn it towards him until Sweet Pea can kiss him for real. It’s slow and purposeful, Sweet Pea’s tongue darting into Jughead’s mouth and sliding across his. Jughead gasps and whines against Sweet Pea’s lips as his head begins to spin again, a lazy sort of heat creeping back in and making Jughead’s stomach clench dangerously, making his fingers tangle with the bed sheets until his knuckles turn white and he’s not breathing right anymore. He’s not sure he’s breathing at all.

There’s enough tension trapped in his body to make his muscles tremble with it, the strain of trying to hold still to not shift and make it worse, to keep himself from clenching down around Sweet Pea reflexively and hurting himself even more, to hold on and endure. And with Sweet Pea kissing him, touching him, Sweet Pea’s hands on his overheated skin, Jughead loses track of time for a while, aimlessly floating around in his own misery, nothing there to hold onto to keep himself grounded with. And somewhere along the way, the swelling at the base of Sweet Pea’s dick begins to go down, the ache of it slowly lessening until Sweet Pea sighs into Jughead’s mouth and slips out of him completely.

And there it finally is, the relief Jughead’s been waiting for so fucking desperately. He lets his head drop back onto the mattress and his eyes squeeze shut as he just lays there pulling in breath after shuddering breath, crying quietly as the tension in him seeps away bit by bit and the horrible ache fades until all that’s left is the ghost of it. A quiet reminder Jughead will feel every time he moves for a while, and it’s awful but still so much more bearable than the actual thing. Sweet Pea hums and nips at the soft stretch of skin just below Jughead’s ear, before reaching down to pull the blanket back over the both of them, his arms returning to keep Jughead cradled close.

Jughead can feel something warm and sticky begin to leak out of him slowly, trickling down onto the insides of his thighs, and he scrunches up his nose at it. It’s disgusting and he, he needs a fucking shower, he needs to move, to get out of this God damn bed, away from Sweet Pea, so badly, but he just doesn’t fucking have it in him. He’s drained dry, no strength left, the fever blurring the edges of the world around him, the dark gray of early morning lulling him in and he just, he lets his eyes slip shut again, lids too heavy to hold, and he’s gone almost as soon as black takes over his world again. Sleep pulling him under like a pair of concrete shoes in one of those corny old mafia movies his dad likes so much.

~*~*~

Jughead wakes to the feeling of fingers carding through his hair, the way his mom used to do when he was little and she was trying to get him to go back to sleep after he’d woken her because of a nightmare he’d had. Back when things were still kind of OK, back when his dad had already been flirting with that abyss inside of him but not full on thrown himself into it, yet, back when Jellybean had still been too young to understand the yelling and the screaming and where it would eventually, inevitably lead. Jughead furrows his brows and blinks open his eyes groggily, confused and disoriented.

It takes a long moment for him to remember where he is, who he’s with, to struggle through that fever-haze clogging up his head, but as soon as it hits him, he flinches and jerks away from the touch, clutching the blanket to his chest as his heart races in his rib cage. Eyes flying open so that he can see Sweet Pea sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, damp hair combed back out of his face, the hand that had been resting on Jughead’s head suspended in mid air and a scowl painted across his features, pulling them tight. There’s daylight streaming in thickly through the windows of the trailer, painting glowing patterns onto the ratty old carpet.

Jughead feels like shit, just as bad as he had the first time he’d woken up, worse maybe even, sick and miserable and achy, and he struggles to heave himself up into a sitting position, wincing and sucking in a breath through his teeth as that pulls at the tender places inside of him, his muscles unusually weak and uncooperative. Doesn’t stop until he’s got his back pressed up against the wall of the trailer, its solidity against his bare shoulder blades offering the tiniest illusion of comfort, as far away from where Sweet Pea is sitting as he can get like this, the blanket held tightly, covering as much of himself as he can manage. He’s still very much naked underneath and the thought has his stomach clenching tightly and his breathing accelerate as that too familiar panic flares up again. He can’t help it, he thinks dazedly, no matter how often Sweet Pea does this to him, he’ll never not be afraid of it happening again. If that ever stops, then it means he’s gone for good, then it just means that there’s nothing of him left anymore, he thinks numbly.

So, in a way, the fear is actually a good thing, Jughead supposes, the fever-fog in his head making his thoughts feel slow and sluggish, an effort to hold onto as he blinks up at Sweet Pea across form him. Sweet Pea huffs and shakes his head, tension and anger evident in the way he moves, in the way his hands are balled into fists where they rest on his thighs. Sweet Pea’s not getting what he wants here either, Jughead thinks blurrily, that much seems obvious.

_Good_. Jughead lifts his chin defiantly and raises one of his hands to rub at his eyes without having to let go of the blanket, making sure to clutch it as tightly as he can. Trying to dispel some of the grogginess, to make it a little easier to concentrate, to think clearly.

His hand comes away feeling strangely sticky, tacky and weird like his face does, and when he opens his eyes, brows furrowed in confusion, he sees black smudges on his skin. _What_? That’s not – He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to remember, to understand, but all that gets him is a harsh stab of pain shooting through his temples and he gasps and lets his hand drop to the covers. Sweet Pea huffs in what sounds like annoyance and then there’s rustling, making Jughead blink his eyes back open to see what’s going on, the fear in his chest flaring brighter.

Sweet Pea is holding a glass of water out towards him, his other palm upturned with a small, white pill resting on it. “Take it.” Sweet Pea grumbles. When Jughead doesn’t immediately react, just keeps staring at the pill as if it’s going to come alive and bite him or something, Sweet Pea growls at him in obvious impatience, his scowl growing more pronounced. “It’s Ibuprofen, not fucking poison, geez. Toni said to try it, if the fever gets any worse. Which it obviously has.”

Jughead bristles at Sweet Pea’s tone of voice, what little energy he can muster feeding directly into the swell of anger that bleeds into his chest, an emotion so much safer, so much easier to bear than the constant, claustrophobic clamp of fear and Jughead has the overwhelming urge to be contrary, just because he fucking can. No matter how shit he feels or how thirsty he is, no matter that all he wants to do is snatch that glass of water from Sweet Pea’s grip and drain it. Sweet Pea’s lips pull back to show his teeth, eyes going hard, impatience shining bright. “Don’t make me shove it down your fucking throat.” Sweet Pea presses out, his voice rough like gravel, gold flaring in his irises.

Jughead grinds his teeth and pulls in a few deep breaths through his nose in an effort to calm himself back down, to give reason a chance to settle in again. Because he has no fucking doubt that Sweet Pea will make good on his threat and the tiny, rational part of him that’s still intact knows that this isn’t the right hill to die on, that there are more important things he needs his strength for than this stupid fucking thing. This isn’t the time to be an idiot, no matter how much he fucking wants to, no matter how gratifying it would be to make Sweet Pea hurt him just to chase away the memory of that horrible gentleness from before, that still lingers, Jughead’s skin crawling with it in the worst kind of way. The roughness he can deal with, easy to compartmentalize, easy to label. The gentleness is so, so much worse.

Just the thought of what – of the way Sweet Pea had – the things Sweet Pea’d made him feel, made him say, turning his own body against him – it’s enough to make Jughead want to scream. Despair and anger and hurt trapped in his chest, beating against his ribs form the inside and leaving bruises everywhere until breathing hurts. So he bites down on the thought, on the feeling as hard as he fucking can and shoves it away, pushes it back down until it’s gone, until it’s nothing more than an insistent little itch at the back of his mind. Because he can’t deal with that right now, he just, fucking can’t.

Slow and reluctant, Jughead forces himself to take the pill and the water from Sweet Pea, sticks the Ibuprofen into his mouth and washes it down with the entire glass full of blessedly cool liquid under Sweet Pea’s watchful gaze. Just to piss Sweet Pea off, Jughead makes a mockery of opening his mouth and lifting his tongue to show that the pill is really gone as he shoves the empty glass back at Sweet Pea, glaring balefully at him all the while. To Jughead’s displeasure Sweet Pea doesn’t take the bait, though, just blows a breath out through his nose and shakes his head, eyes narrowed and a condescending little smile twisting his lips up at one side. “So you can actually do as you’re told, huh? _Good boy_.” Sweet Pea says mock-cheerfully, then reaches into his jeans pocket and digs out his cell before tossing it at Jughead’s chest, who scrambles to catch it out of reflex. “Now call the principal’s office and let the school know that you’ll be home sick until Friday at the least.”

Jughead bristles at Sweet Pea’s words, at his fucking tone of voice, the anger that surges up his throat sharp and vicious and so fucking hard to bite back on. He just so manages to stop himself from hurling the fucking cell back at Sweet Pea and telling him to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine in no uncertain terms, breathing hard through his nose as he flips the damn thing open instead. It’s a veritable piece of shit, ancient and well used, much like Jughead’s own. He punches the numbers in angrily, not even trying to pretend like he’s being careful with the damn thing, but it doesn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking before he finishes. These old things are damn near indestructible, Jughead knows form experience.

He lets his head thud back against the wall and closes his eyes, so he doesn’t have to look at Sweet Pea while he holds the phone to his ear and listens to the ring tone beep away. Finally, the line clicks and Mr. Weatherbee’s ancient secretary, Mrs. Goldsteen, answers the phone in that thin, withering voice of hers. “Riverdale High, you’ve reached the principal’s office, what can I do for you?”

Jughead takes another deep breath, before he speaks, tries to make his voice sound as normal as he can. Although, then again, he’s supposed to be sick, so maybe he shouldn’t even be bothering. “Hi, Mrs. Goldsteen. This is Jughead Jones. I’m calling in sick. Probably going to be home for the rest of the week.” He presses that last part out through clenched teeth, struggling to make himself say it, to make himself dig his own grave deeper and deeper as he goes. Making himself complicit to this thing that’s being done to him in a way that has him feeling nauseous all over again. But what fucking choice does he have? Any hint he could give as to something being wrong that could bring someone investigating, would only end up endangering someone else’s life on his behalf, someone Jughead cares about most likely, and Jughead just can’t fucking bring himself to do that.

Mrs. Godlsteen hums into the phone distractedly and it sounds like she’s rummaging around in some papers, the soft whisper and rustle of it just so making it over to Jughead’s end of the line. “Ah, there it is.” She exclaims happily. “Yes, one of your friends, I assume, already dropped by and left your doctor’s note with me. You’re excused. You do sound fairly rough, deary. Have a good rest and eat lots of chicken noodle soup. That’ll get you back on your feet in no time. Bye, now.”

Before Jughead can even think about saying anything else, the line clicks again and Mrs. Goldsteen is gone, the call ended unceremoniously. Jughead snaps the cell shut harshly, his jaw muscles working as he opens his eyes to stare back at Sweet Pea. “Happy?” Jughead makes himself say, not even trying to hold back any of the animosity that seeps into his voice. Because he honestly doesn’t give a shit about keeping Sweet Pea content any more. He doesn’t have the fucking energy to care. And, if he tries to keep the desperate anger inside of him bottled up any longer, Jughead thinks he might just fucking explode, leaving sticky little pieces of himself all over the fucking trailer for Sweet Pea to mop up.

“You’re a real piece of work.” Sweet Pea grouses and leans over to snatch his phone back out of Jughead’s hand, pocketing it before he gets up off of the mattress, standing in front of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. “But I’m thinking you already know that.”

“Fuck you.” Jughead throws back at him, the words bitter and acidic on his tongue as he clutches the damn blanket to his chest as though it has any substance at all, as though it could ever be a sufficient shield against any of this. “I’m going to take a fucking shower.”

Because he feels disgusting. Sore and sticky in the worst places and all he wants to do is scrub at his skin until it comes off or something, until it doesn’t feel like he’s covered in filth from head to toe anymore, even though he knows that he’ll probably never be able to get rid of the echo of unwanted touch lingering on him, no matter how hard he tries. Something like that doesn’t just go away. And he knows that he’s functioning on borrowed time right now, he knows that the numbness and the anger will only carry him so far, that he’ll only be able to use it to blot out everything else for so long and once that breaks down, chances are he’ll break down with it. He can feel it itching and slithering right there at the back of his mind, shivery and cold, just a heartbeat away, waiting to sink its claws into him and tear him apart.

“Knock yourself out.” Sweet Pea shrugs and looks at Jughead expectantly, just fucking standing there.

“Yeah, well. I’m going to need some fresh clothes.” Jughead snaps at him, achy and worn out and bruises everywhere, inside and out. “Unless you want me to just walk around naked so it’ll be easier for you to bend me over and fuck me whenever you feel like it.” Jughead bites out, spewing poison vindictively, aimlessly, just to get a fucking reaction out of Sweet Pea.

Sweet Pea’s eyes narrow dangerously, his fingers curling into firsts on his arms and the muscles in his neck working visibly, but he doesn’t grace Jughead’s words with a reply. Just takes a step to the side and indicates his chipped old dresser. “Top drawer is yours.” Sweet Pea says flatly and then just turns his back on Jughead and walks away, dismissing him like you would an annoying child. Over to the tiny kitchen area, where he begins to rummage around, pulling out ingredients and utensils for what looks like the makings of breakfast, his movements just a little too jerky to be entirely casual.

His mind a careful, calculated blank, Jughead wraps the blanket around himself more securely, before he starts to scoot forward until his bare feet find the worn carpet of the trailer, his eyes fixed onto Sweet Pea’s back the entire time. Jughead moves gingerly, slowly, limited by how weak he feels, how that awful, much too familiar ache has taken over again, the the fog in his head making it hard to think, making it easier not to as he gets up off of the mattress, taking the blanket with him. He makes his way over to the dresser stiffly fighting the wave of dizziness that makes his knees feel wobbly and unsteady, yanks the top drawer open with clumsy fingers, one hand clasped around the blanket firmly to keep it in place.

And, yeah, there his things are, the clothes Toni and Fangs brought with them yesterday, all folded neatly and sorted by category. Jughead doesn’t even know where to begin in figuring out how he fucking feels about that. So he doesn’t even fucking try, he just grabs what he needs and shoves the drawer shut again, taking some small satisfaction in the way the dresser rattles as he does so. Then he makes his painstaking way over to the bathroom, breath held until the door falls shut behind him and it bursts from his lungs in one long stream of used up air. Sweet Pea didn’t even turn to glance at him, not once. This time, Jughead remembers to lock the door.

Heart beating too quickly, too harshly within the confines of his chest, Jughead drops his clean clothes onto the closed lid of the toiled and lets the blanket fall to the bathroom floor carelessly. Stepping out of it to climb into the shower, still wet from previous use, his limbs awkward as he moves, breath hitching and chest pulling tight, when he upsets the soreness in his thighs, the bruised feeling settled deep and intimate, in the process. He can feel something building up inside of him as he yanks the shower door closed and turns on the hot water, the spray hitting the top of his head and soaking into his hair, burning harshly as it runs across the back of his neck. A pressure in chest, right beneath his collar bones, spreading, growing, reaching up into his throat as it clamps down on his lungs, squeezes them until it feels like he can’t breathe at all anymore, climbing into his head where it pushes at the backs of his eyes until it hurts.

Jughead balls his hands into fists until the knuckles bulge white against he yellow-brown tiles of the shower wall, his head falling forward, mouth falling open to try and suck air back into his burning lungs, hot water rushing down his back, his thighs and down the drain. But the pressure just keeps growing, shattering the numbness he’d wrapped himself up in, shattering the fog in his head. There’s some sort of sound trying to break loose, but it gets stuck in his throat and he’s not even sure, whether it’s supposed to be a sob or a scream. Sweet Pea rushes back in all at once, Sweet Pea’s hands on him, Sweet Pea inside of him, Sweet Pea’s hot, panting breath on the back of his neck, Sweet Pea’s voice in his ear, forcing its way into him, deeper than his fucking dick can reach.

That feeling of desperation, of his walls being broken down violently and Sweet Pea pourg into him like a flood. ‘ _Tell me what you want. Say it._ ’, ‘ _You can take it._ ’, ‘ _You’re doing so good_.’, ‘ _You’re being so good for me._ ’, ‘ _good_ ’, as if that’s something – This time, the sob that claws its way up his throat does break free and it fucking _hurts_ , and he’s breathing again, but too quickly, too shallowly, inhaling steam as it builds up around him and spitting it back out as if it’s something solid instead. Jughead brings one hand up to press against his chest, right where the pain blooms brightest, sagging forward and using his other hand against the tiles to try and hold himself up and he can fucking _feel_ something move beneath his skin, beneath his ribs, in his veins and it’s – it’s not him, it’s something that doesn’t fucking belong, something that Sweet Pea _put_ there and Jughead doesn’t _want_ it.

The pressure behind his eyes, in his sinuses, keeps rising with the speed of the whirl of memories trapped in his head until it feels like he can’t fucking take it anymore, a sharp and stabbing flash of pain as he gasps for breath desperately. And then it breaks, like a blood vessel bursting, like a fucking pressure cooker exploding inside of his head and there’s hot water streaming down his face, mixing in with the tears and the thick liquid gushing from his nose and when Jughead blinks his eyes open, he can see streaks of black swirling down the drain with the water from the shower. So much of it, it should probably scare him, rivulets running across his lips, down his neck, his chest, his thighs as he stands there shaking like his knees are about to give out and he clutches at the wall harder, squeezes his eyes shut again just to not have to look at it. Clamps his teeth together to fight back the fresh wave of nausea.

Because the pain and the anger trapped in his fucking chest aren’t going anywhere and he needs to get a grip on himself, he needs to fucking _breathe_ , before the cracks run so deep he’ll splinter apart like that crappy old, third or forth hand bed frame he’d accidentally broken when he was 8 by jumping around on his mattress too hard. His mom had spent a solid hour yelling at him for it, because they’d already been struggling back then, not quite at the point of having to sell the house and move into a trailer much, much too small for four people – never mind that two of them were children –, on the other side of town, but damn close to it. The smell of liquor on his dad’s breath when Jughead would crawl onto the couch to wake him up in the morning already a constant undercurrent of quiet destruction. A sickness he’d been too young to understand, but he’d already known to identify as wrong. As an ominous foreshadow of something awful lurking just so out of reach still, but moving closer quickly and inevitably.

The thought brings Jughead back to his dad in the here and now and he can’t help but picture the worst case scenario, as he’s so very prone to doing. Imagines his dad lying passed-out drunk on the ratty old carpet in the living room of their trailer, too many empty bottles strewn about the place, his cellphone ringing, the sound muffled, lost somewhere between the disarrayed cushions of the couch with Pop’s name blinking erratically on the screen. His dad’s never been good on his own, he’s always needed someone to look after him and make sure he didn’t drive himself into the ground completely. And Jughead’s been trying to be that person for him for so fucking long, but he’s never been all that good at it, he thinks, opting to pack his shit and leave, just like his mom and Jellybean had, when things got too shit. Giving up and bailing out on him, too.

And it’s not even his fault, but he’s doing it again now, leaving his dad hanging, when he’d need Jughead to be fucking there. Because Jughead’s got a life outside of this. A life with family and friends and his writing and fucking high school and he’s been yanked out of it brutally, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there anymore. All of that is _still there_. He just – he just has to find a way to get back to it, before it’s too late, before it can unravel and fall apart, too. Thinking about how he’d stabbed his dad in the fucking heart to keep him away, to keep him safe, the normalcy of everyday life the way it used to be before, the way it feels like all of it is right there on the other side of this stupid wall, so damn close but still worlds away, it hurts like Hell. But it’s a kind of hurt that’s so much easier to take.

It’s the kind that makes him want to straighten his spine and pull back his shoulders, lift his chin up and bare his teeth. It’s the kind of hurt that makes him the right kind of angry, in a way that pushes against the heavy weight of helplessness and despair and reminds him that he needs to keep going. That there’s something worth fighting for no matter how shit, how fucking horrible all of this is right now. He can do this. He can fucking take it and _survive_ this, Sweet Pea _was_ right with that much. For however long he needs to to find a way out. That thought is what he clings to, repeating it over and over in his head like a fucking mantra, until it blots out everything else and slowly, but steadily, his heartbeat begins to slow, his breathing begins to even out and the wrongness under his skin retracts and curls up to settle in his chest where it lives now.

Jughead pulls in deep, shuddering breath after breath until he manages to open his eyes without breaking down again and he makes himself pry his hand away from his chest and reach for the soap. His movements are slow and careful, because moving too quickly feels dangerous, he’s aching like there’s an open wound beneath his ribs where his heart should be, and his hands shake so badly he almost drops the fucking soap twice, but he fights through it and he manages. He hasn’t been ‘OK’ in far too fucking long, but he knows how to get by anyway, has for so many fucking years, even if he can’t really remember things ever having been quite this bad before.

It takes time for him to go through the motions and he has to work really fucking hard to keep his mind a careful blank and not start spiraling all over again, when he gets to the worst of it. But he manages. And after, he turns his face up towards the spray of the shower head, the heat of the water searing across his skin, and doesn’t move until he’s sure that he’s stopped crying, that his nose isn’t leaking any more, that he’s stopped shaking enough to be able to get out of the fucking stall without tripping and bashing his head in on the toilet or some shit like that. Anger, anger is the key. He knows that much now. He just needs to make himself hold onto it, needs to find the strength to do that.

When the water finally starts to run cold, Jughead lifts an unsteady hand to turn it off, taking another moment just to breathe, in and out, through the soreness and the hurt, before he reaches for his towel. He moves slowly, tenderly. Takes his time and stalls as much as he can in drying himself off and getting dressed, careful with his stilted motions. While it seems like either the shower, or the Ibuprofen from earlier have eased some of the ache in his muscles and taken the edge off of the fever a bit, making his head feel a little more clear, he’s still weak and shaky and hurting and it’s hard to really feel _better_ , even with the slight relief he’s being offered now.

The fog retreating from his head somewhat only means that he has more capacity to think, to chase himself around in endless circles of misery and he’s not so sure that’s a good thing. Feeling too wrung out to start rummaging around to find his fucking comb, Jughead just drags his fingers through his wet hair to get it out of his face and then drops his hand again, leaving it hanging at his side uselessly as he stares at the bathroom door, having run out of things to do to keep himself busy in here. When he holds his breath and listens, he can still hear Sweet Pea clink around on the other side. His chest seizes up and his lips press into a thin, bloodless line just at the thought of stepping back out into the trailer. An action that seems to be getting harder every time he’s faced with performing it.

He’s not sure how late it is, but he doesn’t think it’s anywhere close to afternoon, yet, and that means he’s going to be alone with Sweet Pea for a good while yet, before Fangs and Toni show up after school, like they said they would. He’s got his laptop and his school stuff, he saw his bag sitting on the floor next to the bed earlier, where Sweet Pea’d left it yesterday evening. And the notebooks Toni brought for him to read, too, stacked there with his bag. Burying himself in those will give him something to focus on, he thinks, something to keep his mind busy, something that will help him understand what’s happening to him better, maybe even give him the tools to fight it more effectively. He just – he just has to find a way to keep Sweet Pea off of his back while he does that.

Maybe twice in one night was enough to keep Sweet Pea happy for a bit, Jughead thinks, breathing too quickly and his hands trembling at his sides. Maybe. He has to squeeze his eyes shut and sink his teeth into his lip harshly until the cut there starts to sting as it threatens to reopen to push down on the shivery twist of panic low in his gut, the ghost of Sweet Pea on his skin, before it can blot out everything else and pull him under again, hands balling into tightly furled fists until his fingers ache with the strain. _Breathe through it_ , _steel yourself_ , Jughead pulls those thoughts up out of the depths of his mind and adheres to them as best as he can manage, then makes himself reach out for the lock and disengage it. His hand clammy on the handle as he pushes it down and pushes the door open again.

Motions jerky and rough, Jughead grabs the blanket from the floor and drags it out into the trailer with him, his eyes downcast, not glancing towards the kitchen area, no matter how his muscles tense with the need to. When he looks at the bed on his other side, the covers changed because his spunk from earlier isn’t staining the bed sheet anymore and that thought is enough to make his head swim and his teeth clench painfully, his eyes catch on his beanie, a gray lump of wool half hidden beneath one of the pillows. Jaw muscles working and nostrils flaring, heart a fluttery mess, Jughead tosses the blanket onto the mattress in ill-temper and then snatches up his beanie and pulls it over his head. Fingers tracing the soft wool and his mind reaching desperately for that feeling of comfort, of security and calm that it normally offers.

And he does find some of that, because this is such a practiced, well-worn emotional crutch of his, one he’s used more times than he can count, one he’s had even before he started writing, and it’s not much, but it’s _something_. And that, in itself, carries more weight than he can easily say. Breathing out a shaky sigh, Jughead leans his back against the wall and sinks down along it, until he’s sitting on the carpet next to his bag and Toni’s notebooks, between the bed and the door to the bathroom. He winces at the way it still hurts to move like that, at the dull ache at the base of his spine, a constant reminder of everything he doesn’t want to think about and reaches out for his bag, pulls it close until he can feel the corner of his laptop dig into his side through it, solid and real, _his_. He pulls his knees up towards his chest, the urge to make himself small, to shield himself any way that he can, strong and gnawing, and reaches for one of the notebooks.

It’s impossible to ignore the fact that Sweet Pea is there, even if Jughead refuses to look at him, he can still hear him clink around in the kitchen area, the smell of scrambled eggs and toast as they sizzle quietly thick in the small interior of the trailer, making Jughead’s stomach churn and rumble despite himself. Sweet Pea huffs out an annoyed breath, but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t sound like he’s trying to move closer, as Jughead flips open the notebook and starts reading. The tension that pulls his shoulders tight and climbs up his neck and into his jaw muscles, making him press his back against the wall more firmly, is a harsh thing Jughead can’t escape, but he does his best to concentrate on the words on the pages in front of him instead, using them to plot out everything else as best he can. The way he’s done so many times throughout his messed up childhood and youth.

What Jughead picked up is, it seems, one of the bestiaries. Not the one he’d flipped through yesterday, while Toni was here, but it’s built up much the same. Creatures sorted alphabetically by name, as much information as Toni could gather crammed onto the pages in tiny, elegant handwriting, sketches added here and there. Jughead still can’t help but be baffled at the sheer number of creatures glaring back at him from the pages as he flips through them and he glances over at the pile of notebooks next to his school bag, wondering a little queasily how many more of them are dedicated to monsters. It’s like flicking through a fucking array of nightmares, Jughead thinks, palms clammy as he turns the pages, working hard to wrap his head around all of it. Having trouble accepting it still, his natural skepticism holding strong, even with everything he’s seen already, all the while his attention split between the part of him that’s taking in the notebook’s contents and the smaller, hyper-vigilant part of himself he can’t shut off that’s straining to listen for Sweet Pea’s every move.

Some of the creatures’ names sound familiar as he reads them, reminding him of movies he’s seen or books he’s read, popular in lore, others seem to be some types of variations on them. A lot of them, though, Jughead doesn’t recognize at all. He lingers on some pages, flies through others, his attention catching randomly on names and drawings and skipping over the rest. It’s a Hell of a lot to take in and the rising anxiousness which comes with facing this new truth of his isn’t exactly making it any easier. There’s a whole world of horrors out there, and Jughead hasn’t even scratched the fucking surface, yet.

He comes across ghouls, creatures, who live in the midst of rot and decay and feed on the corpses of humans, common near old, irregularly used graveyards that aren’t properly warded against them. Nasty creatures, who will attack the living, just the same, if they can get away with it. And apparently that’s a thing, too, ‘warding’, whatever the Hell that is exactly, but it means there’s a way to protect against some of these nightmares at least, to keep them at bay. Something he can figure out how to do maybe. He’s got a lot to learn, that much is fucking clear.

Breaths a little too shallow, a little too shaky, Jughead skims over ghosts and gremlins, skips forward again, gets stuck on an entry about Owl-Women for a moment, a shudder running down his spine as he works it all over in his head. What does catch his eye is that the entries themselves seem to vary a lot in the amount of detail they contain. Some cover page after page, others barely half of one with no sketches or anything to go along with the sparse text and he can’t help but wonder about it. Even the more detailed entries seem a little spotty in places. Toni did say that she was writing down what her grandfather was teaching her. A, while pretty fucking extensive, still limited knowledge, apparently. The thought that this collection of horrors doesn’t even cover all of what’s actually out there is enough to make a man want to crawl under his bed, curl up there and never come back out again.

The truth is, though, Jughead’s looking for something specific, not just weaving aimlessly through and Jughead tries to keep that in mind as he continues on with his little tour through the supernaturally macabre and morbid. The notebook ends on the letter ‘P’, though, after a detailed listing of different pagan gods that has Jughead’s stomach churning uncomfortably and he flips it shut a bit too harshly, perhaps, feeling weak in the knees and glad he’s sitting already. He puts the notebook aside, on a new pile and draws a shaky hand across his face and up over his beanie, settling the soft wool on his head more firmly, before he pulls himself together and reaches for another.

Before he can open that one though, Jughead flinches when he hears Sweet Pea moving closer and he snaps his gaze up only to see Sweet Pea walking over with a plate full of food and a glass of orange juice in his hands, his face pulled into an annoyed frown as his shadow falls over Jughead like a bad omen. Sweet Pea crouches down in front of him, sets the food and the juice down to the side and Jughead scrambles to straighten up. Lifts his chin and clenches his jaw as he meets Sweet Pea’s gaze stubbornly, tension pulling his muscles painfully tight and his pulse racing through his veins. Sweet Pea’s frown deepens into a scowl as he takes in Jughead’s reaction.

“Are you ever going to stop freaking out like this all the damn time? Isn’t that getting kind of exhausting?” Sweet Pea growls at him, his voice gravely with frustration and Jughead can’t help the incredulous laugh that forces its way up his throat at that, which only serves to make the unhappy crease between Sweet Pea’s brows deepen further.

“What do you fucking think?!” Jughead bites back, the anger that’s settled in his chest like a simmering piece of coal flaring up and taking over much too easily. “Is this – is this kind of thing fucking normal to you? Is this just something monsters like you do on the regular? Fucking kidnapping people and keeping them around to get their rocks off with? I don’t want to be here, I don’t want you touching me, I don’t even want you fucking close! How many times do I have to say that before it starts to fucking _matter_?!”

Jughead’s hands are flying around in front of his face as he gestures agitatedly, the pent up pressure in his system needing an outlet and he startles badly enough that he bumps his head against the wall at his back harshly, when Sweet Pea bares his teeth and grabs hold of Jughead’s wrist to halt his motions, his grip tight enough to hurt. Sweet Pea moves so fast, Jughead barely even sees it happen and he gasps at the pressure on the fragile bones in his wrist as they grind together and Sweet Pea leans in until the tips of their noses are almost touching, breathing harshly through his clenched teeth.

“You think this is _easy_ for me? That this is the way I wanted things to fucking be?” Sweet Pea presses out harshly, something mean in his voice trying to blot out the tiniest hint of hurt that sits underneath, but Jughead catches it anyway, a grim kind of satisfaction coming with it, mingling in with the heavy, smothering blanket of panicky anger. “You have no idea what it’s like to live this way, but you still act like you’re so much fucking better than the rest of us, with your pretentiousness and your attitude and your stupid Northside friends. It’s so easy for you to look down on us, isn’t it? But you still came crawling back to us, once you figured out that you _needed_ us to keep you safe. I’m the _monster_ , who took care of that Ghoulie problem of yours, by the way.”

Jughead sucks in a sharp breath at Sweet Pea’s words, at the way Sweet Pea’s grip on his wrist tightens even more, bruising the vulnerable skin there and sending hurt radiating up his arm and into his shoulder.

“Nobody fucking asked me, if I wanted to be what I am. That’s not how life fucking works. You get what you get and you find a way to deal with it.” Sweet Pea goes on, flecks of gold sparking in his dark irises, tiny little flames lighting them up from the inside and Jughead bites back harshly on the need to cower and shrink away from him. “You should have never joined the Serpents. You shouldn’t have come to Southside High in the first place. I don’t give a shit about whether or not you’re FP’s son, you don’t fucking belong here, with us. But you don’t get that at all, do you? You’re so fucking entitled you just can’t help but think you have a right to intrude and take up your dad’s mantle, huh? And now we’re _both_ fucking stuck in this mess. Because you just had to go ahead and fuck around with shit that’s none of your damn business. I was trying to stay away from you to avoid something like this, but you just can’t take a fucking hint. And now it’s too late. There’s no way out of this for either of us, so maybe you could try getting off of your high horse for five seconds and stop making it so fucking difficult for both of us.”

Sweet Pea’s words hit much more brutally than Jughead wants to admit, because it’s a little hard to wrap his head around how fucked up Sweet Pea’s position on all of this is, but also, at least in part, because he’d kind of thought – before all this – that he’d managed to find a place where he actually belonged for maybe the first time in his life with the Serpents. And hearing Sweet Pea lay out exactly what he, and probably the rest of them as well, still seem to think of him hurts, regardless of how much he wants to pretend like it doesn’t. So Jughead does the only thing he can right now, takes that hurt and uses it to fuel his anger, to burn the tendrils of doubt that try to twist their way into his gut to a crisp before they can take hold.

“Let _go_ of me.” Jughead forces the words out, meeting Sweet Pea’s piercing gaze with all the stubbornness he can fucking muster and he slaps his free hand against Sweet Pea’s shoulder in an attempt to push him away. Tries to kick at him, when that doesn’t work, but Sweet Pea just growls at him again, eyes blazing gold and lips pulled back to show his teeth as he swats Jughead’s hand away brutally, leans in until Jughead’s legs are trapped between them, pressed up against his chest hard enough to make breathing difficult and then Sweet Pea’s free hand shoots out and wraps itself around Jughead’s throat. Using the grip to press Jughead back against the wall, pushing down on Jughead’s Adam’s apple, on his windpipe until his breaths turn into helpless, stilted wheezing, his lungs burning and his head swimming with the sudden, blinding wave of panic that washes through him.

“You’re hurting both of us with the way you’re acting.” Sweet Pea hisses at him, his voice so fucking close to Jughead’s ear he can feel Sweet Pea’s breath billow hotly over his skin. Jughead digs the nails of his free hand into Sweet Pea’s forearm, clawing at him desperately until he can feel the skin break, but it’s like Sweet Pea doesn’t even notice. Jughead’s chest is aching with the need to breath, with the need for air that isn’t coming and there are bright sparks of static starting to dance across his vision as it turns fuzzy around the edges, but all his struggling does is make it worse. “I’ve been trying to be fucking _nice_. But all you’re doing is fighting me every damn step of the way. You have no idea how easily I could really hurt you, how much I’ve been holding back for your sake even though everything in me is screaming at me to _take_ , to make you mine for good, to bend you until you fucking break and stop squirming around every time I touch you.”

Then, finally, with one last harsh squeeze to drive home his point, Sweet Pea lets go of Jughead and backs up and Jughead sucks in air so abruptly he chokes on it and ends up with a coughing fit, hands flying up to his throat and clutching at it, tears springing to the corners of his burning eyes. Sweet Pea doesn’t wait for Jughead to get a handle on himself, just gets to his feet, breathing harshly with his fists clenched at his sides, the scratches on his forearm already in the process of closing up and scabbing over. “Eat your fucking food.” He presses out through clenched teeth, then turns and angrily heads over to the table to deal with his own breakfast.

It takes a while for Jughead to calm down enough to get his back breathing under control, shaking with the fading rush of adrenaline and angrily fighting back tears. He can feel the wrongness in his gut twisting viciously, the heat of the fever in his blood rising again, making the world around him feel fuzzy at the edges, adding to his dizziness. Jughead glances over to where Sweet Pea is sitting, his back turned towards Jughead, and reaches for the glass of orange juice Sweet Pea left for him. Sips at it carefully and winces at the way it burns down his sore throat, his pulse fluttering erratically. Once the glass is empty, he sets it back down and picks up the plate, toast and a small mountain of scrambled eggs. Jughead eats with unsteady hands, running on autopilot as his mind starts to fog up again, blurring his thoughts together until he’s having trouble telling them apart.

He feels almost detached from himself, like he’s sitting outside of his body, watching himself go through the motions of shoveling food into his mouth from a few feet away, from a safe distance, where he doesn’t have to deal with the way he’s feeling right now, all of the aches and pains, inside and out. It’s strange, that hovering numbness, but Jughead knows in a vague sort of way, that it’s a good thing right now and he doesn’t try to fight it at all. Once he’s done, lungs still aching vaguely in his chest and both his wrist and his neck throbbing dully, Jughead sets the plate aside and wipes his palms on his thighs before rubbing them across his eyes and blinking a few times to clear his vision a little, then picks the notebook he’d dropped back up and flips it open.

Going through that one, too, in a desperate attempt to keep his mind busy, keep it away from everything else. Not a bestiary this time, but something on magic in general. Something about witches, about bloodlines with a special affinity towards magic and selling your soul to the devil to be able to tap into that. It’s not what he’s looking for either, but he buries himself in it anyway, reading about the witch trials in Salem, which turns into an unexpected history of Shadow County itself, fucking Greendale more specifically. The town with which Riverdale shares part of its border, the one Jughead’s been warned about more than once, but never quite understood why. It’s complicated and it’s enough to suck him in and hold his attention, especially when he gets to the part that goes into detail about the fact that there are ways to tap into the magic of a place even without being witchborn. Things about runes and talismans and herbal mixtures. More passive and more subtle than actual witchcraft, not as immediate or powerful in the way it works, but still pretty useful from what he can gather.

Even with all that, though, it takes a long time for his heart rate to return to anything resembling normal or his hands to stop shaking where they’re holding onto the notebook too tightly.

~*~*~

Jughead doesn’t move or set down the notebook for the rest of the day, buries himself deep and steadfastly does his best to ignore the rising tension in the trailer, the way Sweet Pea becomes more and more restless as the day goes on. Pacing back and forth in the small space, grabbing things to keep himself busy with and discarding them again in frustration, Jughead’s shoulders pulling tight until his head starts to throb dully with the strain in his muscles. Only takes a break when Sweet Pea shoves a sandwich and another Ibuprofen against the fever that’s began to flare up again at him morosely, some time around noon. He gets the sense that the notebook is working like a sort of shield for him, like Sweet Pea’s trying to leave him alone while he’s going through it, because it’s something he’s supposed to be doing, getting acquainted with all of the things he doesn’t know yet. And he uses that to his advantage stubbornly, plans to do it for as long as Sweet Pea will let him get away with it.

So Jughead immerses himself in Toni’s neat, cursive handwriting, recognition making him frown more often than he’d expected. Like when the symbols for a warding against a number of smaller evils remind him of the scratches he’s seen above the doors and windows of his dad’s trailer and some of the other’s in the park, but had always skipped over and dismissed as meaningless, as signs of decay and vandalism and nothing more. Comes across others that seem vaguely familiar until he realizes that he knows them from around the Wyrm or has seen them on some of the other Serpents in one way or another. He even gets caught on a set that he suspects he’d find on the back of his own leathers, if he had them here to take a closer look at now.

It’s baffling how much of this has been right under his nose his entire life, but has never once made him stop and wonder. He takes careful mental notes with every new page he turns, tries to memorize patterns and their effects, starts a list of things he doesn’t quite understand in his head, things he’s going to ask Toni about when she shows up again. He hardly notices how the quality of the light begins to change along the way, bit by bit, and it startles him, tears him out of his thoughts unkindly, when there’s a knock on the trailer’s front door and he looks up only to find that Sweet Pea has flicked on the overhead light and the sky outside hast started to turn dusky with the first hints of sunset.

It takes Jughead a long moment to settle back into the here and now, the ever present, sharp discomfort of it, as Sweet Pea trudges over to the door and pulls it open a little too harshly, muscles straining with how much he’s holding himself back, all of that pent up restless energy more than evident. Fangs, standing in the doorway with his fist still raised halfway, takes one look at Sweet Pea and the grimace pulling his features tight and all of the ease drops away from him in a second, his lips thinning and a frown marring his features. Sweet Pea takes a step back and makes a sarcastic swooping gesture to bid him in and Fangs follows his invitation, Sweet Pea glancing outside, furrowing his brows and then closing the door after Fangs. Fangs’ eyes sweep the inside of the trailer until they land on Jughead, still sitting on the floor in his corner by the bed, knees drawn up high to his chest and Jughead returns his look with just as much ill will, feeling defensive and stubborn, backed into a corner as he is.

Jughead take some small measure of dark gratification from the way Fangs’ eyes widen a bit, just for a second, when he glances down at Jughead’s neck and then quickly away again. Jughead doesn’t know how he fucking looks, but with how tender his skin feels there, he wouldn’t be surprised, if he had a fresh ring of bruises to show for his and Sweet Pea’s little ‘disagreement’ earlier, he thinks bitterly. The ones on his wrist are definitely impressive enough, standing out bright and stark where they cover the abrasions from the handcuffs from the day before. Jughead clenches his teeth and raises his chin higher, his legs coming down to cross on the floor in front of him, a quiet challenge in his gaze as he holds Fangs’. Because why should he be the only one, who has to deal with the consequences of this fucking mess. If this is making Fangs uncomfortable, then fucking let it.

From over Fangs’ shoulder, Jughead catches Sweet Pea staring at him, teeth bared and gold bleeding into his eyes as his hands pull into fists at his sides and Jughead’s breath hitches on his next inhale, his stomach pulling tight as he stubbornly fights the urge to pull up his shoulders and duck his head like a coward. The tension in the air rises until it feels like it’s hard to breath around it, like it’s solid enough for Jughead to reach out and touch, if he dared.

But he’ll be damned, if he lets himself be cowed into backing off now and he does the exact opposite of what his instinct is telling him to, pulls his shoulders farther back and straightens his spine, a clear challenge, fueled by spite and a dangerous thread of self-destructiveness, boiling in his gut and forming a counterpoint to the fear and the hurt. Let Sweet Pea fucking lose it, let him explode with Fangs right there to watch it happen, a vile little part of Jughead thinks, that ever-present, barely suppressed anger rising up into his abused throat like a fist full of smoldering embers. Maybe that will be enough to change Fangs’ mind on what’s happening here.

A low growl slips out from between Sweet Pea’s lips, pulled back to show his teeth, and he takes a slow, purposeful step forward, brushing Fangs’ shoulder in the process. That seems to be the cue that unfreezes Fangs, though, and he blows out a breath, eyes narrowed and brows furrowing at Jughead as he turns towards Sweet Pea, stopping him with a careful hand on Sweet Pea’s elbow. Sweet Pea’s gaze snaps away from Jughead and over to Fangs, his eyes widening a little as if he’d almost forgotten Fangs was there all together, breathing harshly through flaring nostrils and washing a hand across his face roughly. Shaking himself as if to dispel his anger and aggression, shoulders dropping somewhat, but the gold still bright in his eyes.

“Hey, chill, man. He’s not worth it.” Fangs voice sounds strained, but Sweet Pea deflates a little more at his words, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of Fangs neck and he leans down to press their foreheads together in greeting, before straightening back up. The scowl on his face stays firmly in place, but the gesture still seems to help and he keeps his attention trained on Fangs, even though Jughead can see the strain in the muscles of his neck as they work and Jughead’s not sure how to feel about any of it. Still riled up and on the verge of exploding into chaos himself, holding his breath as if waiting for the world to burst into violence and obliterate this awful prolonged sense of suspension he’s been trapped in for days, but getting the sense that it’s not going to happen, that he’ll remain stuck in it for an indefinite amount of time still.

“Toni couldn’t come with, said she had to do some more research. But I can look after him for a bit, if you want.” Fangs says, hard to miss that he’s still pissed, but it sounds like he’s trying for soothing anyway. Jughead can’t help the way his stomach sinks at Fangs’ words, though, he’d kind of counted on Toni being there, on her presence acting as a buffer between Sweet Pea and Fangs and him. Looks like he’ll have to make do without, Jughead thinks grimly. Even, if it’s just Fangs, it still means he’ll have some small measure of respite for a short while. “Maybe grab some air. Walk it off, man. Get some food while you’re at it?”

That last sentence makes Sweet Pea huff reluctantly, then sigh. “Yeah, fine.” Sweet Pea presses out, the muscles in his jaw working visibly as he speaks, his eyes narrowing as they flick over to Jughead and then away again. Tension sitting heavy in his shoulders, movements jerky with his temper, Sweet Pea steps over to the tiny kitchen area, pulls open one of the drawers and rummages around in it until he comes back up with a pair of handcuffs dangling from his fingers. The same ones from yesterday, Jughead thinks, his hands balling into fists on his thighs and every muscle in his body pulling tight, prepared to put up a fight, if Sweet Pea takes another step towards him with them.

When Sweet Pea makes to move again, though, Fangs steps in his way and stops him, one hand coming to rest lightly on Sweet Pea’s stomach. “Let me.” Fangs offers and holds out his free hand, palm up and fingers curling slightly, motioning for Sweet Pea to hand him the cuffs. “I’ll take care of it, man.”

Sweet Pea tenses visibly for a moment, but then catches himself, exhaling a long breath as he drops the cuffs into Fangs’ hand. Then takes a step back and crosses his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed and mouth down-turned at the corners as he watches Fangs walk over to Jughead and crouch down in front of him. “Give me your wrist.” Fangs says calmly, though not kindly, his free hand motioning for Jughead. Impatience flashing in his eyes when Jughead is slow to comply. Jughead has to take a moment to fight down the thrum of anger and resentment pumping through his veins to be able to clear his head, just enough to let himself think a little more clearly.

Yeah, he could resist Fangs, make the barely diffused situation blow up in all of their faces, because he’s pretty sure Sweet Pea would just lose it, if he did. And part of him wants to do just that, wants the gratification of it, but there’s still some reason left in him, despite it all and that part of him knows that letting Fangs go ahead so that Sweet Pea will actually leave for however long will give him some small measure of reprieve. Some room to breathe a little more deeply, even if it’s all on borrowed time. So he swallows around the knot in his throat and blows out a shuddering breath, makes himself unclench his hand before he slowly raises his left arm and offers it up to Fangs, his lips pulled into a thin, unhappy line.

His eyes hard as he works, Fangs circles Jughead’s wrist with one hand, uses the other to shove the sleeve of Jughead’s flannel shirt a little further up his forearm and then clicks the cuff shut around Jughead’s wrist, making sure it’s tight enough to be secure. Reaches up to close the other cuff around one of the bars of the headboard of Sweet Pea’s bed and lets go of Jughead’s arm so that he can get back to his feet. Jughead tugs at the cuffs once to test them, but finds no give, just as he’d expected, then blows out a breath through his nose and lets his arm drop until it’s hanging off of the headboard by the cuffs. He can’t lower his arm all the way like this and it dangles weirdly in mid air near his chest, the cuff biting into his wrist a little, but at least it’s the other one this time, not his right that’s still chafed and bruised, tender where it rests against his thigh.

Fangs turns his back on Jughead, dismissive of him in a way that makes Jughead bristle a little, so that he can face Sweet Pea again, who’s been watching the whole thing unfold quietly brooding. “Good?” Fangs asks and Sweet Pea gives a jerky nod, before trudging over to his dresser where he grabs his wallet and shoves it into the back pocket of his jeans roughly.

“Be back in a bit.” Sweet Pea bites out and throws one last baleful look Jughead’s way before he yanks the door to the trailer open and lets it bang shut after him. The moment he’s gone, the air inside of the trailer shifts, all of that pent up tension seeping away and for the first time in much too long Jughead feels like the steel band that’s wrapped itself around his chest loosens just a little. The relief of it only serves to drive home how bad it’d been before. Jughead blows out a shaky breath and sags back against the wall, letting it support most of his weight, almost a little frightened by how close he’d come to letting it all escalate, to losing his head completely. He needs to be smarter about this, if he wants to fucking survive, but that seems to be getting harder and harder the longer it lasts. He wants to close his eyes and float in the relief for as long as he can, take a much needed moment to pull himself back together, so that’s exactly what he does.

When Jughead cracks his eyes open again, Fangs is still just standing there frowning at the door, but he eventually catches himself, gives his head a quick shake, before he walks over to the table in the corner. He grabs one of the folding chairs there and carries it back over to Jughead, sets it down in front of him and takes a seat in it, arms crossed over his chest and legs splayed wide. It’s a conscious decision, taking the chair instead of sitting on the floor with Jughead and Jughead squares his shoulders and makes himself sit more upright, just to feel a little less looked down on. Makes a point of stubbornly holding Fangs’ gaze and not letting his eyes slide away from the silent challenge in Fangs’. Because this is one he can meet safely enough, this is something he can allow himself, Jughead thinks bitterly.

“What the fuck are you trying to do, man?” Fangs spits the words at him and Jughead’s a little taken aback at the vehemence behind them. Jughead can feel his hackles rise and his defenses go up angrily.

“What am _I_ trying to do? Are you fucking serious?” Jughead bites out, a scowl set firmly on his face, but Fangs doesn’t seem cowed in the least. If anything, his frown only deepens and he unfolds his arms so that he can rest his elbow on his knees and lean forward in his seat.

“You think you’re so much smarter than the rest of us, don’t you? Like the fact that you used to live on the Northside somehow makes you better than us.” Fangs goes on, his words intentionally mean and Jughead opens his mouth to shoot something back, but Fangs just talks over him. “But you’re really not. Especially, if you can’t see how much you’re making shit worse! What, do you enjoy antagonizing Sweet Pea or something? The only reason he’s this tense and volatile is because you keep pulling that stupid attitude bullshit of yours. He doesn’t want to fucking hurt you. He’s not the monster you seem to be so dead set on making him out to be. So you need to fucking stop.”

“Really?” Jughead throws back at Fangs, incredulous, that rage that’d just started to simmer down somewhat flaring bright and hot in his stomach, making him pull at his cuffs and ball his hands into fists where they rest. “The three of you seem to be really set on this idea that what’s happening is _my_ fault somehow. I don’t even – I don’t even know where to start with that! Do you know how fucked up that is? Sweet Pea doesn’t want to hurt me? Really? You just fucking _saw_ him. You can see _this_ , right?” Jughead takes a break to gesture at his neck, his wrist, before he plows on, the anger and the fever making him feel a little woozy, but he’s too worked up to pay it any mind. “Would you like me to show you the other bruises, too? How about the ones on my hips? Or maybe the ones on my thighs? If you’re honestly trying to tell me that he’s not a fucking monster then maybe you don’t know him as well, as you think you do. I didn’t _make_ him do anything to me.”

“Shut up!” Fangs’ outburst is so harsh that Jughead can’t help but flinch back from him, even if he catches himself a second later, his own anger only flaring brighter in return. “You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about! You weren’t even supposed to be at Southside High in the first place. Sure, you’ve been living here with your dad for a bit and you’re FP’s son, which makes it a little more complicated, but you never really belonged here and it’s pretty obvious that you didn’t _want_ to either. You’ve been acting like you’re something better than the rest of us ‘Southside trash’ ever since you fucking got here. I don’t know why you changed your mind all of a sudden, why you want to be part of the Serpents now, when you made it so very clear what you thought of us right from the start. Sure, you’ve hit a couple rough patches in your life, boohoo, but you have no idea what it’s like to have to survive here, when you’re trapped here all your life and you don’t have any fancy Northside friends to help you out or go to a fancy Northside school like Riverdale High.”

“You have no fucking idea what Sweet Pea’s done for us, what he put on the line to protect us. You have no fucking clue what kind of person he really is or how much this whole thing is taking out of him. You’d actually have to be fucking blind to not see what it’s doing to him! All you do is point fingers and blame others. And it’s really fucking easy to put all the blame on someone like Sweet Pea, especially now that you’ve seen his true nature, isn’t it? Really easy to keep your seat on the high horse you rode in on just so you don’t have to stop and look at yourself, at your part in all of this.”

“Alright.” Jughead presses out through his teeth, trying hard to keep his racing heart in check, to hold back on the urge to yell, to lash out, take a fucking swing at something, someone. Even, if only because he knows he wouldn’t get anywhere with the fucking cuffs impairing him. “Go ahead and tell me what I’m missing, then! Fucking enlighten me.”

“OK. Sure. Why the fuck not?” Fangs says, sarcasm heavy in his voice and he leans back in his chair again, recrossing his arms in front of his chest, pissed off and defensive as he frowns down at Jughead, shifting in his seat. Jughead pulls his lips into a thin line and presses his back harder to the wall behind him.

“You know that Sweet Pea actually has a family, right? Three younger sisters, dad off working construction or drinking his wages away most of the time while the rest of them go hungry, mom a little too ‘fragile’ to deal. All of the fucking cliches. When he was like 8 or 9, he turned for the first time. Takes a bit for the whole werewolf thing to manifest properly. And, his parents just freaked. You know his dad actually tried to kill him? Went after him with a fucking shotgun, right in front of the rest of his family. Would have managed, too, if it hadn’t been for his older brother, Darren. Darren was the one, who thought to call their nana, too and she knew right away what was gong on because she’d had the same thing happen to her a long time ago. Offered to take Sweet Pea in and help him deal and believe me, his parents were all too eager to be rid of him.”

“Used to be Darren was the only one kept in touch with him. But a couple years ago Darren turned 18 and joined the Army to help keep food on the fucking table, like a lot of guys around here end up doing. Didn’t even make it through his first tour. And you know what? Sweet Pea found out through the fucking paper. His parents wouldn’t even let him go to the funeral. And then last year his nana died, too, and he’s been alone ever since, taking care of himself. With a little help from the Serpents, but still. Sure, he’s angry a lot, who the fuck wouldn’t be? He’s still the loyalest guy I fucking know. We met, when we were both, like, five or something.”

“He was the only one, who believed me, when I told him I was seeing shit. I thought I was going fucking crazy. Everybody thought that, actually. But Sweet Pea, he stood by me, when no-one else would. Told his nana about the whole thing, who told Toni’s grandfather, who was the first person to actually get what was going on. Helped me understand what it was and get a handle on it. And that’s not even fucking all, man. Because _my_ dad? Real fucking piece of work. Not just into booze, but hooked on the real hard shit. I can hardly remember what he used to be like before he started trying to fix himself to death. He’d get these rage fits, whenever we’d run out of money, put my mom in the hospital on the regular. Broke my arm three times before I turned ten, you know, ‘falling off of a swing set’ or some shit excuse like that.”

“This one night, when we were both twelve or something, Sweet Pea was there for a fucking sleepover and my dad was supposed to be away, but he came home out of the blue, already all worked up and angry about some stupid shit. I swear, he would’ve killed both my mom and me, if Sweet Pea hadn’t been there. Twelve year old kid, man, but already as tall as my dad easy. Don’t know how many bones in my dad’s body he broke that night, but I don’t think I’d ever seen my dad look that fucking scared before. Sweet Pea stayed with my mom and me for an entire fucking month after that. Just to make sure my dad had up and left town for good. _That’s_ the kind of friend Sweet Pea is. I wouldn’t even be here right now, if it weren’t for him.”

“And when Toni came back to town ‘cause she couldn’t stay with her dad anymore and my mom couldn’t take her in because she was hardly making enough money to feed the both of us and Toni ended up living with her dad’s brother for a bit? Turns out her uncle’s a real sleazebag. Got really fucking creepy really fucking fast. She’d come to school with these weird bruises all the time, started skipping P.E. just so she wouldn’t have to change in front of the other girls, all of that shit. She didn’t wanna talk about it at first, but when she finally did, it was Sweet Pea, who made sure that asshole never fucking touched her again. She’s living with her grandfather now and things are a Hell of a lot better than they used to be. As good as they get around here, for people like us. You don’t get to fucking judge Sweet Pea, you hear me? Or any of us, for that matter. You have no idea the kind of person he is or how much he hates how things are right now. How hard he’s been fucking trying, for _your_ sake. This whole thing is so fucking stupid! You’re ruining everything.”

Fangs is breathing hard, his mouth twisted up into an ugly grimace and his fingers digging grooves into his arms by the time he’s finished talking and he just sits there for a moment, letting the rest of his anger wash out of him. Jughead’s having a hard time processing all of it. The things Fangs said, the picture he painted of Sweet Pea, it’s so at odds with the way Sweet Pea is around him that Jughead feels his head swimming with it, those two versions of Sweet Pea clashing in his mind, antithesis of each other like Kirk staring at his own dark doppelganger in a twisted mirror universe. He can feel his chest pull tight again, the lump in his throat growing and his eyes stinging with the biting sense of despair that reaches out and envelops him, wraps around him like an old friend. 

“You’re right.” Jughead makes himself say, through the blockage in his throat, his eyes burning dangerously, his pulse rushing through his ears and filling them up with static. “I really don’t get it. If he’s such a great fucking person, then why – why would he – why would he even –“ His voice catches and he has to stop himself, has to squeeze his eyes shut and press the heels of his hands into them in a futile attempt to stop the wetness from spilling over, breath hitching on every rushed exhale. He wants his anger back so fucking badly, not this horrible confusion.

“I didn’t _ask_ for any of this.” Jughead whispers, the words so low he’s not sure Fangs catches them at all and he fucking hates how weak, how pathetic he sounds, but he can’t do anything about it. He’s fucking losing it. The anger isn’t enough to hold back this – whatever the fuck this is, anymore. “I just – I just want to go _home_. Just let me go. I won’t say a fucking thing, I’ll take this to my grave with me.” Jughead pulls his hands away form his eyes so that he can look at Fangs, not caring about how wet his face is or how much he wants to be stronger than this but isn’t, crawling and begging in what a part of him already knows is probably going to be completely futile and so very painfully aware of it. And still, he can’t bring himself to stop. The words bursting out of him in a jumbled rush. “You could just – unlock the cuffs and pretend like I got away on my own. My dad’s been wanting to get out of Riverdale anyway. He’d pack his stuff and head up to Toledo with me to go be with my mom and my sister in a heartbeat, if I asked him. Just, I can’t _do this_ anymore.”

“Fuck.” Fangs blows the curse out on a shuddering breath, his mouth pulled into a thin bloodless line as he washes his hand across his face. “Believe me, I’d do it in a fucking heartbeat, if I could. Sweet Pea deserves to be with someone, who actually fucking _wants_ him back. At the very least. I have no idea why his wolf imprinted on you of all people. Why Sweet Pea likes you when it’s so obvious that you’ve got your sights all set on your pretty little Northside ex and not him. I don’t get it at all. And I’m damn sure Sweet Pea’d do things differently, too, if he had any choice at all. He damn well didn’t want _this_.” Fangs gestures at Jughead, at the state he’s in, the whole damn situation and Jughead doesn’t even have to wait for him to finish to know that Fangs isn’t going to help him. A hopeless kind of numbness settling in as the realization grows and Jughead wipes at his cheeks with his palm clumsily.

“But it’s not like we haven’t been fucking telling you that again and again. And none of us can do a fucking thing about it right now.” Fangs goes on, only confirming what Jughead already knows. “Look, man. I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s up to you. You want shit to get easier, you want your life back same as we want ours back? Then you gotta _stop_ fighting Sweet Pea. You gotta let the bond settle so that shit can calm down again, then figure it out from there. Once that’s happened it’ll be a lot easier for Sweet Pea to keep his instincts in check, to hold back and give you some fucking space. All you’re doing right now is torturing yourself _and_ Sweet Pea both and it’s a real damn shit show from every angle, believe me.”

“And what kind of life would that be, huh?” Jughead lets his head thunk back against the wall, letting it rest there as he meets Fangs’ gaze, so fucking tired. But at least he’s not crying anymore, not because he doesn’t feel like he wants to, but just, because he doesn’t have the energy to keep doing it. “What would that even look like? If I just gave up and let Sweet Pea have what he wants?”

“I don’t know, man.” Fangs concedes somewhat reluctantly, heaving a sight and shaking his head slowly and Jughead can’t help but notice that he looks pretty fucking tired, too. “All I do know is that it’d be a damn sight better than what you’ve got now.”

Jughead doesn’t know what to say to that but he’s kept from having to figure it out by the door to the trailer being pulled open again and Sweet Pea steps in carrying a couple bags of take out from Pop’s, same as yesterday. Both Fangs and Jughead snap their gazes over to him and Sweet Pea halts in his step after he’s closed the door behind himself, frowning as he takes them in. “What?” He grumbles irritably, but Jughead still can’t help but note that he seems somewhat calmer than he did, when he left. Looks like some fresh air and a chance to clear his head a little really did help, Jughead thinks and has to fight to keep the hysterical little laugh from working its way up his sore throat. God, he really is a hair’s breadth away from losing it, isn’t he?

“Nothing, dude.” Fangs says, his voice purposefully light, quick to catch himself and disperse the mood that’d settled between Jughead and him. “I’m fucking starving! Let’s eat.”

That actually gets an honest smile out of Sweet Pea, small but undeniable, even while he huffs out a breath and pretends to be morose about it. “Yeah, well. You’re always fucking hungry.”

“That’s just because I’m still growing, man! I’m not gonna stay this short. It’s not my fault your growth spurt hit when you were, like, ten or something!” Fangs shoots back easily and gets up out of his chair to help Sweet Pea with the food. Fangs’ attitude changed completely.

Just watching the two of them interact as he wipes at his face with his sleeve, getting rid of the last traces of wetness there. The way Fangs looks at Sweet Pea, the way Sweet Pea treats Fangs in return, Jughead can’t help but think that Fangs really meant what he said about Sweet Pea. That Fangs really believes Sweet Pea’s a good person. It’s – Jughead tries, he really does, but he can’t make sense of it. He can’t manage to bring those two versions of Sweet Pea together, the one Fangs and Toni obviously see, the one Jughead might have gotten a glimpse or two of before all this, and the one Jughead knows now. The one Jughead can’t help but hate with all he’s worth. The monster he’s seen shine through so undeniably again and again.

Fangs comes over to bring Jughead his part of the haul and then leans in to unlock the cuffs, finally freeing Jughead’s left arm, even if it hardly feels like it makes much of a difference. He might as well be wrapped up in chains from head to toe with all of the freedom he has right now. With one last unhappy look at Jughead, a firm reminder of their previous conversation, Fangs turns and goes back to sit with Sweet Pea over by the kitchen area, angling himself so that Sweet Pea has his back to Jughead while they eat. Talking to Sweet Pea and making light, joking in the way normal teenagers are supposed to do.

Trying to help, to make things easier in his own way, Jughead thinks with a petty kind of bitterness as he takes the first bite of his burger. The food sticking to the roof of his mouth and almost making him choke with how it clumps in his throat. He has to wash it down with a huge gulp of his milkshake – strawberry, a part of him notes through the hollowness that’s settled in his chest, used to be his favorite – to make it go down and keep himself from chucking it all back up.

It doesn’t seem nearly long enough until the food is gone and Fangs starts to make noise about leaving. Something about an essay due tomorrow. This time, Jughead doesn’t try to stop him. He already knows it’s no use. He already knows what’s going to happen once Fangs is gone, too. They’ve got a fucking routine set by now, Jughead thinks and has to be careful not to choke on the acid crawling up his throat. Just to not have to watch Fangs leave, Jughead gets up on wobbly legs, stiff from sitting on the floor all day, and heads to the bathroom. Stays there until he hears the door to the trailer fall shut again, and then another good while after that. For as long as he thinks he can get away with before Sweet Pea loses his patience.

When Jughead steps back out into the trailer, Sweet Pea is sitting on his bed, leaning back on his arms and staring up at the ceiling, as if lost in thought. He seems calmer now, the lines on his face softer, even if that undercurrent of restlessness is still hard to miss. Evident in the way his fingers twitch against the blanket, the way his knee bounces ever so slightly up and down. Sweet Pea shifts his gaze over to Jughead, gets up off of the bed slowly when Jughead doesn’t move away from the bathroom door. Jughead can feel his breath hitch, his chest, his shoulders pulling tight as Sweet Pea moves closer.

Sweet Pea’s eyes drop away from Jughead’s face, down to his neck and Jughead can see Sweet Pea’s mouth pull tight, something like regret flickering in his gaze as he reaches out a hand. Traces his fingertips across the skin, across the bruises there, light enough to make Jughead shudder all over, make his pulse kick up and his heart flutter queasily. Sweet Pea’s other hand comes up to Jughead’s shoulder, wraps around the joint and squeezes, not hard enough to hurt, not quite. And still Jughead can’t help the way it makes his skin crawl, the way it makes him want to curl in on himself and pull away.

“I’m sorry.” Sweet Pea forces out, makes it sound like it physically hurts to say the words and hearing them feels a little like getting punched in the gut, the air rushing out of Jughead as his lungs constrict. Sweet Pea leans in further, brings them closer until Jughead can feel his breath gust hotly across his lips, until their foreheads are pressed together the way he saw Sweet Pea do with Fangs earlier, still refusing to look Jughead in the eye. “ _Please_.” The word is spoken so low Jughead barely hears it, so much misery trapped in that one syllable, and maybe, in the midst of this fucking nightmare, regardless of how much Jughead wants to deny it, Jughead isn’t the only one who’s slowly breaking down.

Sweet Pea’s hands tighten on Jughead as he leans in, bridges that last bit of distance between the two of them and kisses Jughead, a quiet sort of desperation in the soft press of his lips, sucking the air right out of Jughead’s lungs. Jughead should – he’d – maybe, if he could just make himself –. But he _can’t_. He fucking can’t. It all comes crashing down around him, like something splintering apart, rushing back in, the revulsion, the fear, the anger, the despair and he can’t fucking breathe, he can’t fucking _think_. The memory of his own voice, wrecked and thrumming with need, the ghost of Sweet Pea’s touch, the truth of just how good it had felt... like a knife cutting deep and harsh right into the core of him.

A horrible sound trapped in his throat Jughead jerks away and shoves at Sweet Pea’s chest as hard as he fucking can and it actually makes Sweet Pea stumble back a step, caught by surprise. Eyes wide for a second, before they narrow again, that same rage from before making them flare golden, distorting his feature as he balls his hands into fists at his sides, knuckles cracking with the force of it.

“ _Don’t fucking touch me_!” Jughead bites out and watches as Sweet Pea’s eyes flash brighter in the low light of dusk, as he pulls back his lips into a snarl, a growl slipping out, primal and awful as it rumbles all through his chest, before he bursts into motion again. This time, when Sweet Pea tries to reach for him, Jughead fights back with all he’s worth, kicks and shoves and claws at Sweet Pea until he can feel blood well up under his fingernails, fueled by rage and despair. The way he should have done right from the fucking start.

“Stop it!” Sweet Pea bites out, his grip too tight as he spins Jughead around and presses his back against Sweet Pea’s chest, arms wrapped around him to keep him still, but all that does is make it worse. Make the panic and the rage trapped in Jughead’s gut burst open like a festering wound, a red haze rising up to swallow him until that’s all he can see, all he can feel and Jughead sinks his teeth into Sweet Pea’s arm and bites down as hard as he can, doesn’t let up until the taste of copper explodes sharply across his tongue. Sweet Pea yelps and jerks back and Jughead shoves out of his arms, out of his grip. There’s nothing rational about this, reason has fled the fucking scene and left nothing behind but this blinding need to fight back, to submerge himself in his own destruction, the hopeless violence of it, as long as that means that he can keep Sweet Pea from touching him again, even if only for a few more moments, as long as that means he won’t have to bear Sweet Pea’s cruel gentleness again. As long as it means that, for however long he can keep this up, he’s something other than completely fucking helpless, powerless, because he can’t fucking take that feeling anymore.

Sweet Pea makes a sound more animal than human that cuts right into Jughead and shoves him so hard, he bangs his head against the wall of the trailer, when he lands on the bed, the mattress bouncing harshly under his weight. Head swimming and stars dancing across his vision, Jughead kicks at Sweet Pea, when he crawls onto the bed with him, knees him in the gut hard enough to knock the breath out of him, bucks and pushes and pulls at Sweet Pea until Sweet Pea’s hand finally manages to get hold of Jughead’s arm and Jughead screws his eyes shut and yelps at the sudden sharp flash of pain. He doesn’t feel bones break, but it’s a near thing under Sweet Pea’s crushing grip and the hurt only serves to rile Jughead up more, to make him fight even harder as Sweet Pea begins to tear at his clothes, fabric ripping under his hands where it’s not coming off fast enough and leaving red lines behind on Jughead’s skin, but it’s like he hardly even feels it through the fog of panicked desperation, the frantic, hopeless rage he’s trapped in.

When Sweet Pea flips Jughead over on the mattress, the sound of spitting just barely breaking through the rush of white noise in Jughead’s ears, any traces of softness in his touch are no longer existant. Whatever thought for Jughead’s well-being was there before is gone for good and when Sweet Pea jerks Jughead up onto his knees and starts to push into him, no prep at all, Jughead screws his eyes shut and screams loud enough to make his throat burn. If he’d thought he’d hurt before, it’s nothing compared to this. Sweet Pea growls, low and visceral, the sound cutting through the air around them as he pushes down on the back of Jughead’s neck, pressing Jughead’s face into the covers harshly as he shoves deeper, harder and everything after that gets swallowed up in an all consuming, delirious haze of heat and pain.

Jughead doesn’t know how long it lasts, all concept of time eluding him, doesn’t know if he’s crying or screaming or still fighting at all, doesn’t know anything except for Sweet Pea, all around him, so deep inside of him Jughead thinks a part of him is never going to leave again. The air in his lungs a burning clump of liquid heat as he gasps for breath uselessly, the blood in his veins pumping through his heart fast enough he’s vaguely wondering, if it’s just going to explode and give out. And when it _is_ over, Sweet Pea’s breathing too harsh, too uneven as the clutches Jughead close with his grip too hard, Jughead doesn’t come back to himself, hardly aware at all as he keeps floating in that haze, in the heat burning through him. Somewhere, obscurely, there’s the sensation of drowning in a darkness that feels more alive than not, viscous and acidic as it floods into his lungs, writhing and twisting, taking him over, taking him apart from the inside out.

~*~*~


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we finally have the next chapter! <3  
> Thank you all so much for your patience, as always :) I hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> A huge, special 'thank you' goes to [serpenthair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentheir/pseuds/serpentheir) for the swift and incredibly helpful beta! You're amazing!! I'm pretty sure I owe you my firstborn or something xD <3

~*~*~

Jughead is suspended in darkness, floating around aimlessly in sea of malicious heat, endless and claustrophobic at the same time, wrapped so tightly around him it feels like he’s suffocating while slowly being cooked alive. Which somehow keeps bringing his scattered mind back to that frog in biology class in middle school. Endlessly, over and over again he watches it die a slow and painful death, until it’s not the frog sitting in the bowl of water with the temperature rising steadily, inescapably, anymore but he himself.

A part of him detached, watching from above as he sits there uselessly, not understanding that he needs to move, if he wants to live, so apathetic and helpless it makes a vicious wave of disgust well up in the dark pit of his stomach. Disgust for his own wretched, pathetic nature that surprises him in its intensity and the part of himself that’s floating above, watching, it _wants_ him to die. It wants this miserable existence of his to end for good. It wants the nothingness that was promised to him, that comes after. The desperately longed-for relief of it.

But – that’s not right. That’s not how it’s supposed to go.

He’s no stranger to disliking himself, for various reasons, shifting from one thing to another over the years. Like all of those little shortcomings of his, tripping him up again and again, setting him apart from the people closest to him. All of those walls he’s built around himself, trying hopelessly to protect himself from the things he doesn’t want to feel, like the devastating helplessness of having to sit by uselessly and watch his family fall apart bit by excruciating bit.

Or the way he’d so desperately wanted to feel like he belonged, like he fit in, all of his life, but never seemed to be able to fill the requirements for that, always running headfirst into an invisible wall made up out of ill fitting clothes and the wrong kind of interests, his biting, bitter, contrary attitude and a family that never quite figured out how to pull off living on the right side of the tracks. Until he’d eventually gotten sick of being disappointed over and over again and given up, embraced his awkwardness and his otherness and used both to strengthen the walls cutting him off from the rest of the world.

His mouthiness, his contentiousness, his sarcasm and his inferiority complex, his inability to shut up and leave things be no matter how much trouble he knew opening his mouth would get him in. The way a part of himself couldn’t help but doubt both Archie and Betty in their devotion to him, couldn’t help but feel like he never really managed to belong with them either, like whatever it was that they had with each other, he’d never be able to get there, not quite, no matter how much time they all spent together. Which was, of course, unfair to them, but still something he couldn’t shut down, that bitter, vindictive little voice at the back of his head whispering poison into his ears whenever it could. The fact that even with all that, his pathetic need to be liked, to be accepted for who he is, refused to go away completely.

He disliked all of these things about himself, harshly, cruelly, sometimes, but never to the point of hating himself enough to want to end his _life._ That’s wrong, that’s not him. He’s been through so much an he’s never given up, never let it tear him down completely or kill of that small part of himself that kept hoping, kept pushing on no matter what. He’s never been someone who let himself be deterred once he’d set his sights on something. Before Jughead can make anything more of it, though, his thoughts dissipate like a plume of smoke being hit by a sudden gust of wind, and he drifts off again.

~*~*~

Jughead’s conception of time is shot all to hell. In this vast pool of fevered black time loses its meaning.

Sometimes, he’s vaguely aware of the world around him, of the fact that there is a surface to this sea of darkness he’s sinking into, and through it, muted and strange, perceptions filter in. Loud noises, like crashes, splintering and groaning, short bursts of destruction that make him want to flinch back and curl into himself, but he’s not sure he can feel his limbs enough to do so. He’s not sure he want to either, because somewhere, faintly, he’s aware of the looming ache, a dark cloud of pain waiting for him on the other side and it scares him enough to shy away form it harshly whenever his consciousness brushes up against it.

A voice floating to him from a distance, muted and strange, as if the speaker is trying to articulate around a mouth full of cotton. Bits and pieces, fragments that don’t fit together well. Muttered curses and quiet pleas, though to whom or for what Jughead couldn’t say.

Then there are those few, awful times, when he’s harshly, cruelly thrust back into his body and he can actually, really feel himself fully, only he wishes so badly that he couldn’t. Because he was right and all there is to be found there is a consuming, bone-deep ache and the delirious heat of fever. Crawling through every muscle, shivery and sickly underneath his skin, dull and sharp at the same time and both the heat and the sensation of slowly suffocating are so much worse than they are in the disembodied sea of darkness he’s found a new home in.

Always feeling trapped, when he comes to, wrapped too tightly in a pair of strong arms and a cocoon of blankets that feels stifling more than anything else and his skin hurts like a deep, fresh bruise all over, the touch aggravating and painful. Sweet Pea’s voice in his ear, soft as it murmurs empty comforts his fingers carding through Jughead’s hair, Jughead’s scalp hyper sensitive in a way that makes him want to crawl out of his skin just to get away from the sensation of Sweet Pea’s fingertips running across it.

Sometimes he wakes with Sweet Pea’s fingers in his mouth, pressing something onto his tongue, sometimes he wakes after, with a cool glass held to his lips, choking and sputtering as water slides down his throat messily. And he tries to fight back against it every time, but he’s so weak that he’s not sure Sweet Pea even notices.

One time, he blinks his eyes open to a bleary abstract painting of the world and it’s light; the next time he does it’s pitch black and he’s not sure his eyes are open at all. The impressions alternate and override one another and he’s not even certain he’s perceiving them in the right order at all. It’s like blinking through a distorted, nauseating kaleidoscope of shapes and colors and sometimes-light. And then he’s actually retching, his whole body cramping weakly as he uses what little strength he has left to heave up a sad little trickle of bitter black goo, and tries desperately not to choke on it in the process, burning up as he does so. But it never seems to be enough, it never makes him feel any better or like he’s drowning in it any less.

He can’t remember the last time he felt this sick or this miserable.

~*~*~

There’s something cool and damp and soft resting against his forehead. A small slender hand cups his cheek and Jughead blinks his eyes open to find his vision filled with a blurry, staticy version of Toni’s face, her hair a bright, unexpected burst of color in this muted world of his. He tries to move, but his limbs are heavy as lead and everything _hurts_. He must have made some sort of sound, because the washed-out line of Toni’s brows furrows and she makes a soft, shushing sound at him.

“Hey, it’s OK. You’re OK.” Her voice sounds weirdly distorted, like it’s trying to penetrate a wall of white noise, but only managing in fractions.

Jughead blinks and she’s not looking at him anymore, her head turned to glance up at Sweet Pea, who’s nothing more than a darker shadow in the quiet gloom of the trailer. His chest, his lungs are burning, as if he somehow inhaled a cloud of acid along the way, and the air inside of them feels too thick, too sluggish to move right, insufficient as he weakly gasps in breath after unsatisfying breath.

“Nothing’s helping. I don’t know what to do.” Sweet Pea’s voice floats over to him, oddly disembodied in its distress. A far off thing that cannot touch him.

“I know.” Toni turns back to look at Jughead, but he can’t make out her expression with the way his vision is swimming. He doesn’t realize that it’s because his eyes are welling up until he can feel the cool wetness of tears leaking out of the corners and running in a ticklish trail across his temples. It’s like his entire body is stuffed to the brim with fever and ache and it hurts so fucking much. All he wants is to not be here anymore. To be weightless and far away again.

“My grandfather doesn’t know anything that could help and I tried looking, but this is – I don’t _know_ what this is. I’m so sorry. How much money do you have saved?”

A strained pause. Or maybe that’s just Jughead flickering in and out, like a light with a faulty circuit. He misses the answer.

“OK. If Fangs and I pitch in, it might be enough. I know it’s not a good option, but I think it might be the only one we’ve got. You need to keep a close eye on him. If he isn’t any better by tomorrow afternoon, we’re taking him. If he gets _worse_ , call me right away.”

“Yeah, alright.”

And then , thank God, Jughead’s gone again. He has no idea what happens after that.

~*~*~

Floating around in the dark feels more and more like existing on borrowed time, that sense of suffocating growing stronger, pressing down on his chest like a weight that’s slowly being lowered, bit by bit until the burden of it snaps his ribs and crushes him into a pulp. But still muted somehow, still separate from him as he is now separate from himself in a way. As if the knowledge of what is happening should be horrible and unsettling, but it can’t touch him, not really, not as long as he’s here. His mind keeps wandering. Aimlessly, jumping from one thing to the next like a broken record player where the needle skips back and forth without reason or rhyme and the sounds it produces are distorted and strange but still faintly recognizable as part of something familiar.

Memories flash by in a flurry of color and emotion and melt into each other around the edges like swirls of paint mixing together. Him and Archie, age 8, sitting in Jughead’s tree house, huddled together over a Ninja Turtles comic Archie’s dad had bought for them while grocery shopping earlier, their shoulders brushing and their fingers bumping together as they both reach to turn the pages at the same time. So engrossed in the story, that age-old battle between good and evil broken down in a way even they felt like they could understand, that the world around them is all but forgotten. The warmth and the softness of Archie’s skin bright and vivid as if Jughead’s still feeling it now. Something so precious and important he doesn’t have the right words to describe it with.

The first time he’d kissed Betty, that same warmth and softness, but so very different at the same time. That storm stroked up by the millions of frantic little butterflies flapping around in his stomach violently as he does maybe the bravest thing he’s ever done in his short, tumultuous life and makes the first move. Baring his soul to her and feeling like the luckiest guy in the entire world, when she smiles at him after, all soft and sweet with those big, blue eyes of hers.

Jellybean pressed into his side in the dark, cramped space of the trunk of their parent’s old Ford on their way to the drive-in. Her soft little breaths and excited giggles as he quietly tells her about the movie they’re about to see. A lightness in the too-warm darkness they’re bathed in that’s getting rarer and rarer as it is. And later that same night, Jellybean curled up under his blankets, crying with her hands pressed over her ears as their parents scream at each other in the next room. His dad too drunk and his mom too angry to care about the noise they’re making. Sirens blaring in the distance because their neighbors called the cops on them again, the third time that month altogether. Not long now until it all falls apart for good.

His dad lying passed-out drunk on the couch in their trailer, a whiskey stain slowly drying on the rough old carpet next to it, the pale morning light filtering in through the windows. Dust motes flitting through the air, dancing around the chaos and neglect that has taken over this place as Jughead stands in the doorway with his backpack of meager belongings slung over one shoulder. His heart in his throat and a fresh, finger-shaped band of bruises around his upper arm as he takes one last look at the barely-home and the man who’s supposed to be his dad he’s about to leave behind because he just can’t fucking take it anymore.

Archie hardly being able to look him in the eye after he’d avoided him all summer, after he’d ditched Jughead and their plans to go on that road trip they’d been talking about for months, and how betrayed Jughead had felt about all of it. And then, much later, Archie tearing him down as he breaks up with him for Betty, as his words shatter their friendship all over again, only to clumsily try to piece it back together after. That same old, painful back-and-forth that Jughead can’t help but fall into every time.

Mr. A smiling at him with that soft hint of sadness just around the edges of his eyes, the one that always seems to be there when he looks at Jughead, and telling him that he could stay with them for as long as he needed to.

Jellybean staring back at him through the rear window of that sputtering old Ford as it slowly rolls out of the trailer park and onto the road to Toledo with his mom at the steering wheel, her eyes firmly fixed onto the path ahead, as if she can’t baer to glance at the child she’s leaving behind as she goes.

Spray-painting his name onto the side of the projectionist booth of the Twilight Drive-in, clumsily trying to find a way to say goodbye to the place that holds so many of the few, cherished, happy memories of his childhood. Trying to say goodbye to what all but felt like a part of himself, something he’d never be able to get back once lost. But isn’t that, in a way, just a natural part of growing up?

His dad being arrested for the murder of Jason Blossom, the whole of that awful night, the grief and hopelessness and a loneliness so heavy it’d felt like he’d splinter and break beneath its burden, ready to throw it all away, the life he’d so clumsily built for himself in this little town of horrors.

There’s too much there, too much shit that _hurts_. Shouted insults in the school hallways, accumulating over the years until one blends into another and the fists flying his way all start to look vaguely the same, hurt exactly the same when they connect with him. The smell of cheap liquor perpetually ingrained into his senses, the deep-seated injustice accumulating around him like falling leaves in autumn, a growing loneliness that translates into anger at anything and everything until it feels like one day that anger is just going to burn through him and leave behind nothing but a sad, charred husk of a human being, just like his dad.

Then, in the midst of all of that, of trying to run away from everything, isolating and punishing himself by accepting a fate meant to put him down, put him where he’s felt he belongs all along, with the Serpents. Who he’d started out hating just as much as the next thing, a good place to lay the blame for his father’s steady downward spiral, a dark kind of jealousy mixed in for good measure, but who’d turned out to be so very different from what he’d expected.

Toni with her camera, her quick wit and wry smile and a hunger for social justice mirroring his own. Fangs with his laid-back mischief and a perpetual, light-hearted challenge in his easy grin and Sweet Pea with his anger at anything and everything, explosive and loud even when he’s not, making it impossible to overlook him, to not be drawn to him in a strange sort of way. That muted undercurrent of the promise of violence in his every move, backed up by his big frame, and a pull behind those dark, dark eyes of his, something deep and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for an excuse, any excuse at all, to break free and wreak havoc.

The way Jughead’s stomach had dropped and his shoulders pulled up every time he was the aim of that piercing gaze, defensive and angry in return, but beneath all that, a quiet fascination, a sense of curiosity and intrigue he couldn’t shake nor explain no matter how hard he tried. And amongst all that, slowly but steadily growing, the feeling of starting to belong for real, maybe for the first time in his life. The promise of home, of family, unspoken but so very loud none-the-less as they listened to him, as they stood with him against Penny and the Ghoulies and the hostility they were met with at Riverdale High, as they slowly but surely began to accept him into their ranks as one of their own. Or so he’d thought.

Right before it’d all shattered like a glass pitcher hitting the wall and bursting apart in a home soon to be reduced to nothing more than a blurry memory, thrown in anger with his mother screaming insults and his father yelling slurred, ill-thought out excuses back at her. One small mistake and everything was gone. The illusion ripped apart, leaving him with nothing. Nothing but darkness and heat and pain and the steadily growing feeling of being unable to breathe. The devastating sense of being a failure, of not being wanted, again, despite everything, his tentative hope dying an ugly, violent death of its own.

~*~*~

A bright burst of semi-consciousness yanks Jughead back into his body harshly enough to give him mental whiplash and he comes to choking. He’s bathed in sweat with his chest heaving and every muscle in his body trembling with the strain of it, every inch of him hurting and fever-bright. There are voices somewhere near him, jumbled and agitated, but he only catches bits and pieces of what they’re saying as his own mindless panic threatens to overwhelm.

“Come on, come on, hurry! You should have called me sooner, damn it!” Toni, that’s her voice, Jughead thinks blearily and he can’t help but note, in a strange, detached sort of way, that she sounds really scared.

“Shit, I’ve got him, just go, get the door.” Sweet Pea’s voice closer to him, then the sensation of being lifted, together with the blankets he’s tangled up in and Jughead tries to open his eyes, but all he gets are blurred pools of shifting colors floating in the dark and he closes them again as a fresh, shivery wave of nausea hits him.

“I borrowed my mom’s truck, but we gotta hurry, man. He looks like he’s fucking dying. Get in!” Fangs, Jughead thinks, that’s Fangs.

But he’s too busy trying and failing to pull air into his burning lungs to be entirely sure. Everything’s a panicked, pained blur. The roar of the truck’s engine is too loud, the voices inside of it too quiet. The blankets are constricting, making the feeling of suffocating worse, and Jughead tries to fight them off, but he can hardly move and Sweet Pea just keeps shushing him, his lips pressed against Jughead’s scalp, his nose buried in Jughead’s hair. It’s Sweet Pea all around him, writhing inside of him, a twisting mass clogging up his lungs and Jughead can’t –

The next time Jughead becomes aware of his surroundings again, they’re no longer in the car. He has no idea where they are, only that the lights are so blinding they hurt his eyes even through the closed lids and he just so manages to turn his head enough to be able to hide it against Sweet Pea’s shoulder as he fights desperately for breath that isn’t coming. It’s like drowning only worse, because it’s taking so much longer. He’s dying in increments, seeing the horror of it coming and being unable to do a single thing about it except sink helplessly into a red haze of panic and fear.

“Shit, come on! You have the money, right?” Toni’s hushed voice drifts over, but Jughead doesn’t catch the reply. It gets lost in the sound of metal doors being thrown open, in the clanging of their heavy frames, and a second later, the smell of disinfectant wraps around him heavy and biting, permeating everything.

“Ah, you’re Mrs. Topaz and friends, I take it? I’d like to – oh. Well, that doesn’t look particularly good, indeed. If you’d follow me, please. Time is of the essence, I’d say.” An unfamiliar voice, a strange sort of calm woven through the words, crisp and effective, and then Jughead blinks out again.

“You have the money? Small bills preferred, as we discussed.”

Rustling and the world shifting around him.

“Really? Can’t we take care of that after you’ve helped him?” Toni sounds so scared, so angry it’s almost jarring. Jughead squeezes his eyes shut and whines, something in his lungs moving around like a coiled-up snake but more liquid than that and he feels so fucking hot he can’t take it anymore. Sweet Pea’s breath gusts through Jughead’s hair as he shushes him again.

“I’m not a charity, young lady. Either you pay me, or you leave.”

More rustling, more hushed, blurred voices.

“Hm, yes. That will suffice. Now put him down here and let me have a look, while you tell me _exactly_ what has happened. Don’t leave out any of the ghoulish details.”

Then stifling darkness again.

There’s shockingly cold metal pressed to the bare skin of his legs, the blankets gone, but someone’s holding him upright, his bare back pressed to a broad, clothed chest, arms wrapped securely around him. The bitter scent of something vile and unidentifiable seeps into his barely working lungs as the fever burns through his mind, his veins, turning his body and the twisting, slithering thing inside of it into an oven.

“Make sure that he drinks all of it.” That strange, unfamiliar voice, still so disconcertingly calm in the midst of the chaos all around, inside and out, and Jughead actually thinks that he might be in the process of dying.

Someone tilts his head back and presses a cup to his dry, chapped lips. The overhead light is so bright it leaves him blinded as something bitter and awful floods into his mouth. Jughead swallows reflexively, his sore throat protesting, and his stomach starts to cramp violently the moment the liquid hits it. He chokes on the next mouthful, sputtering and coughing as nausea overtakes him, his ability to breathe impaired even more by the ordeal and he tries to turn his face away, to escape whatever it is they’re trying to force down his throat because it’s just making things worse. It’s not helping at all.

“Come on, I know it sucks, but you’ve gotta drink it. It’ll help, I swear. _Please_.” Sweet Pea’s voice in his ear, desperate and scared, even though Jughead can barely make out the words over the sound of his own wheezing, labored breaths. There’s no capacity for thought left in him, only instinct and that’s telling him to fight this, whatever it is they’re trying to do to him now and so he does, weak and hopeless as he is. Foul-smelling liquid spilling down his neck and onto his chest as he presses his lips closed against the flow of it.

“Shit! He’s not –“

The world around him is starting to spin faster, the hints of blotchy colors swirling into each other until they’re nothing but a dizzying maelstrom of meaningless motion.

“He’s fucking dying, man, why won’t he just –“

He can’t even fucking tell who the voices belong to anymore, the frantic flutter of the words as they beat their wings in the swirling space around him barely even touching him at all.

“Sweet Pea, wait!”

Jughead flinches when lips seal over his, the instinct to pull away rushing through him and feeding into the blinding panic, but the arms holding him still are vice-like and inescapable and his desperate scrambling so very weak. Then fingers digging into his cheeks, strong and unrelenting until he has no choice but to open his mouth, the lips sealed over his opening as well, and that bitter concoction flooding right back in, this time with a sharp tinge of copper woven through and Jughead has no other option but to swallow if he wants to be able to continue his futile struggle for breath. So that’s what he does, half-conscious and choking, and it settles in his stomach where it starts to simmer and seethe before the effect of it spreads out into the rest of his body slowly, relentlessly.

Like acid, eating away at his insides, setting his blood boiling as it rushes through his veins and the darkness inside of him writhes in agony as it tries to shrink away from it, slithers thickly into his skin, into the tips of his fingers, but with no-where left to go from there. The hands on him tighten and when Jughead snaps his eyes open, Sweet Pea staring back at him through a film of distortion like heatwaves rising up from the tarmac in the height of summer, there are blisters on Sweet Pea’s lips and Sweet Pea tilts his head to the side to spit blood onto the tiled floor.

Another wave of pain hits Jughead like a punch to the gut, shooting through him, reaching for every last inch of him and he loses another indefinite amount of time to smothering black. Then comes back to, bent over the edge of whatever hard surface he’s resting on and heaving convulsively, strong hands holding him still, keeping him from toppling over as he chucks up wave after wave of viscous, bitter wrongness, fighting desperately not to choke on it.

“That’s it, come on. Come on.”

His entire body pulling tight in waves, cramping to aid his stomach’s struggle. Even long after it feels like there’s no ounce of strength left in his muscles, it keeps going on, like it’s never going to end. Wave after wave of sharp, biting agony, tears streaming down his face, but no breath left to sob, nothing left at all. Then, right in the middle of it, right when he thinks this is more than he can take, darkness claims him again.

~*~*~

When Jughead wakes again, he has the strange, intangible feeling that a larger amount of time has passed. The air around him feels different. Calm, quiet, no more voices, no more bursts of frantic motion. Just him and the slow, steady beat of his own heart, the soft sound of his unobstructed breathing. He feels wrung out and sore all over, weak and achy, but not feverish anymore. And while still muddled, his head feels clearer, too, like waking up from a very long, very vivid nightmare and finding the world around to still be solid and real even though he’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

He’s lying on a hard, smooth surface, distinctly uncomfortable, skin-warm now, although it calls back a weird flash of memory of a sharp chill against his bare skin. He’s in his boxers, covered up to his chin by a soft blanket and, when he finally blinks open his eyes, the first thing he sees is a big, adjustable surgical lamp looming above him. Turned off now but the soft light seeping in through the small windows high up on the wall to his right is enough to see by.

Jughead glances around in confusion, finds tiled walls and floors in a strange, faded beige. A row of metal shelves along two walls, filled to the point of looking hopelessly cluttered with an array of things Jughead can barely make out, a mess of cups and small boxes with scribbled, handwritten labels and strange instruments of all sorts. A third wall covered in shelves filled entirely with books, reaching from floor to high up ceiling. The books themselves an eclectic mix of bindings and colors and ages, some looking to be much, much older than Jughead himself, though none of them seem like the kind you’d be able to buy in a regular bookstore. One shelf is filled entirely with notebooks, pieces of paper sticking out of the tops, all of them worn with use and bulging with extra material stuffed in between the pages. Piles of cardboard boxes stacked in between the shelves wherever there’s room, though Jughead can’t really tell what’s supposed to be inside of them.

Still, even with all of that strange clutter, the room manages to look sterile and cold and the smell of disinfectant hangs heavy in the air, almost enough to cover up the underlying scent of something Jughead can’t quite place. The only thing he knows is that it makes his stomach feel queasy all over again, cloying and sickly sweet as it is. A soft groan that slips past his lips when he tries to muster the strength to sit up but fails miserably. It’s only then, when his head thumps back against the hard steel of it, that Jughead actually takes a moment to look at what he’s lying on and realizes that it’s some sort of metal examination table. At the same time the movement pulls at something at the back of his neck and Jughead lifts a shaky hand to feel along it, the tips of his fingers sliding over gaze taped to cover the bite mark there.

What?

His heartbeat kicking up a notch and trying to speed up his sluggish thoughts, causing them to crowd together in his head and making a dull throb start to radiate outwards from his temples, Jughead lets his gaze dart around the room again. There’s a metal tray next to the examination table he’s lying on, covered with what looks like an array of surgical tools, some of which Jughead can identify, and others that just look like unnamed props out of torture horror. The sort that call to mind plenty of highly unpleasant possible uses, even if he can’t say what they’re supposed to be for exactly.

This time, when Jughead tries to sit up, he actually manages, aided along by a sharp burst of adrenaline. Limbs shaky and hurting and a sharp stab of pain shooting up his spine from the base of it. His clammy hands slip on the smooth steel, his heart racing as he snaps his head around towards the fourth and last wall of the room. This one is almost bare and it has a single steel door with a small pane of frosted glass set into the top third of it.

And a huge metal desk set is against the wall right next to the door, cluttered with a mess of things that Jughead doesn’t have the time to catalog, because there’s someone sitting in the chair in front of it and Jughead’s attention immediately focuses onto her. It’s Toni, her bright pink hair a dead give-away, even slumped as she is onto the small free space of the desk, her head resting on her folded up arms as she teeters precariously in her seat, fast asleep from the way it looks.

Something at the center of his chest feels strange, itchy and tingling, and Jughead lets his gaze wander down, brows furrowed in confusion to where a weirdly shaped black pendant rests against his skin, just above his racing heart attached to a brown leather cord hanging around his neck. The skin around the edges of the pendant looks red and irritated, but what’s even more strange and worrying is the latticework of blackish veins shining through his pale skin, seemingly spreading outward from the pendant, reaching across his chest and forming an uneven circle there. It kind of reminds Jughead of that one time his dad nicked his thumb on a construction site and got blood poisoning because he’d refused to see a doctor before it got really bad, that darkened vein along his thumb shining through the skin.

But, usually blood-poisoning moves _towards_ the heart, not away from it, right? He lifts a shaky hand to reach for the pendant, remove it, maybe, but he stops in the middle of the motion, hand hanging in the air weirdly as his stomach twists up and churns painfully. Something in him telling him that it would be a bad idea to mess with the pendant, even though he can’t say _why_. Well, fuck all of that, Jughead thinks frantically, he can deal with it later. Because while he has no fucking clue where exactly he is, he’s not in Sweet Pea’s trailer anymore and Sweet Pea isn’t here with him. Some inexplicable stroke of luck. And maybe running is a stupid fucking idea, but if he knows one thing for sure, it’s that he can’t go back, not after what – not after the way Sweet Pea – after that horrible mess of darkness and heat and the brink of what he’s pretty certain was death right at the tips of his fingers.

That slew of tar-like wrongness flooding out of him, the fever, Sweet Pea’s hands on him, bruising bone-deep, reaching _into_ him and _twisting_ and the feeling of being unable to breathe washes back over him, making him feel dizzy and panicked and he has to fight so fucking hard to not let it wash him away. Because he can’t fucking afford that. Right now, he needs to make use of whatever chance he has and get fucking moving. If he can get out of here, maybe he’s got a chance, to – he doesn’t even fucking know. He doesn’t care either. All he knows is that he at least needs to fucking try.

Jughead grits his teeth and lifts the blanket away from his legs so that he can swing them over the edge of the examination table, then pushes forward and off of it. As soon as his bare feet hit the cold, hard tiles of the floor, though, he realizes how badly he’d miscalculated as another stab of pain shoots through him and he yelps, his knees buckling, and he crashes down to the ground in an ungainly heap. Catching the metal tray with one grasping hand as he goes down and knocking it over, the surgical instruments clattering loudly, scattering across the tiles, punctuated by the crash of the tray itself as it impacts.

Across from him, Toni jerks awake, her eyes wide as she spins around in her seat and her gaze catches on Jughead. She mumbles something under her breath that Jughead doesn’t catch over the sound of blood rushing through his ears and his own harsh breathing, over the pain radiating out from all of the places he’s bruised in his fall, from the base of his spine, his head, and he squeezes his eyes shut and curls up on the floor, trying to push through it.

“Shit!” Toni’s hands land on his shoulders as she drops to her knees in front of him and he peels his eyes open only to see the blurry shape of her face contorted with sleep-addled worry. He can’t help but note how rough she looks, bags under her eyes and features drawn as she stares down at him. “What are you doing? You’re not even supposed to – shit, just wait here, I’ll get the doctor.”

And with that she’s back on her feet and rushing out of the door into the next room. Jughead gets a glimpse of it before the door falls shut again. Looking much the same as this one, only bigger. Surgical steel and adjustable lamps and person-sized examination tables, one of them occupied by an uneven shape covered with a white sheet form head to toe. He hears voices in the other room, one of them Toni’s, the other he can’t quite place, though still strangely familiar from his fever dreams, from those weird, jumbled memories, but he can’t make out what they’re saying.

Head swimming so badly it’s making him feel nauseous again, Jughead just lies there and waits as he tries to catch his breath, feeling too weak to move on his own either way. It doesn’t take long until the door swings open again and a tall, lean figure walks through, followed closely by Toni. The newcomer is dressed completely in scrubs, a pale green gown covering him from shoulders to feet, to gloved hands, hair hidden beneath a scrub cap and a surgical mask hanging around his neck. The white, laminated apron he’s wearing is speckled with red in a way that makes Jughead’s stomach turn even more.

“Oh, for God’s sake. I thought I’d told you not to let him get up once he woke.” The man says in his slightly nasal voice, chiding and cold in a way that sends a chill down Jughead’s spine, as if the man is more annoyed with the mess that was made rather than worried about Jughead’s well-being.

The smooth, slightly damp latex of the man’s gloved hands wraps around Jughead’s upper arms, bringing with it the slight burn of disinfectant as the scent of it spikes bitingly. Jughead’s first instinct is to flinch away from the touch, his stomach clenching painfully and fluttering with that much too familiar, painfully sharp sense of panic and fear, but the man’s grip is much stronger than Jughead would have expected from someone with a frame like his and Jughead is still embarrassingly weak.

So there’s not much he can do except scramble along as he’s pulled to his feet unceremoniously and held upright until he’s managed to sit on the edge of the examination table he’d been lying on. Limbs trembling with the strain of it and breathing too quickly. It’s distinctly uncomfortable, sitting like this, the dull ache at the base of his spine throbbing and tender as it radiates outward, but the thought of lying down again just makes his chest pull even tighter, his muscles locking and refusing to cooperate, so he clenches his teeth and tries to ignore the pain as best he can.

He gets a good look at the man’s face, then, age-lines cutting deeply into his skin, somewhere in his fifties Jughead would guess, if he had to, pale eyes bright and sharp and analytical over a severe looking nose and a wide, thin mouth. “There.” He says and lets go of Jughead, takes a step back so that he can let his gaze wander over Jughead, taking in the miserable state of him. “Some water, perhaps.” The man adds quietly, sounding like he’s talking more to himself than either one of the other occupants of the room. He nods once, the movement sharp and precise, then turns and walks out of the room with a brisk step before either Toni or Jughead manage an answer.

Jughead’s gaze follows him until the door swings shut after him, no clue what he’s supposed to make of any of it, a strange, unsettled feeling left in his gut. Jughead can’t really explain why, but he doesn’t think he likes the guy very much. There’s something about him that makes the hairs on the back of Jughead’s neck prickle to attention uncomfortably. And the fact that he feels helpless in this state of crushing exhaustion he’s in, drained of strength so much so that even the simple act of keeping himself sitting upright puts a strain on his aching muscles, that the world around him feels strangely muted and dull with it, doesn’t help at all. He does his best to shake the feeling, but can’t quite manage, as he turns to look at Toni.

She’s… just standing there staring at him, her eyes wide and an expression on her face Jughead finds hard to describe. A deep, intimate sort of hurt shining through the stark white around her irises. She’s not looking at his face. Plenty shaken himself, Jughead follows her gaze, his brows furrowing in confusion until he really takes a look at himself, at what she’s seeing. Sure, there’s that weird pendant on his chest and the blackish veins snaking out from it, but… that’s not it either, he doesn’t think. Her eyes are fixed to something else. To the mottled bruises painted across his skin, even paler than usual, making them stand out sharply. Dark and angry looking.

His wrists, his arms, his hips… his thighs. All of them vaguely finger-shaped. The marks Sweet Pea’s hands left on him. Jughead feels very small all of a sudden. Much too exposed in nothing but his boxers in this strange and unsettling place and he reaches for the blanket he’d discarded to draw it across his lap with unsteady hands and cover himself as best he can. Heat rushing into his head as memories crowd in, flashes of images, of sharp sensation, bright bursts of pain and fear and Jughead can feel his breathing escalate and his heart rate stutter and he presses the palm of a hand against his eyes and clenches his teeth, pushing back as harshly as he can until it flattens off again, until the memories rebury themselves where they can’t hurt him, where they cannot touch him for now. A fragile sort of respite he knows won’t last, but one he needs to cling to with whatever he’s got left, if he doesn’t want to lose the last bit of himself he’s got left.

When he looks back up, Toni’s mouth is pulled into a thin, bloodless line and her face is drawn like she’s trying not to be sick. A numb, confused part of himself almost feels sorry for her and he knows he’s not thinking clearly, he’s too tired, too drained to be able to, so there’s no way to make himself remember exactly why he shouldn’t. It can’t be easy for her, being confronted with the evidence of what Sweet Pea – being faced with it in a way impossible to ignore or deny any more, after what Fangs told him about her and her uncle… Jughead bites down on his tongue sharply, until the pain brings him back to himself, pulls him out of his thoughts that threaten to start spiraling again and he clutches at the blanket tightly, knuckles turning white as he does so.

Toni shakes herself harshly and draws in a deep breath, coming back to herself as she exhales shakily. Sinking into herself like a balloon slowly losing air, she walks back over the metal folding chair by the desk and sinks into it heavily. Then leans forward until she can hide her face in her hands, elbows propped up on her knees. Jughead thinks he should say something, but he feels… empty. He can’t come up with the fucking energy to find the right words. It’s like – he feels broken somehow, cracks deep ragged and pieces of himself splintered away, their jagged edges cutting into the soft parts of himself when he moves. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing now. He’s never had any reason to come up with a script for a situation like this.

Before Jughead has the time to figure it out, though, the man from before returns, carrying a tall glass of water with him, sans his gloves and the stained white apron this time. Jughead takes the glass as it’s handed to him, his motions jerky and his limbs moving on autopilot, because some part of him is aware that this is what’s expected of him. “Slowly, now.” The man warns him in his strangely detached tone and Jughead just so manages to keep himself from draining the glass in one hurried go, the fact of how thirsty he actually is hitting him together with the first rush of cool water sliding across his tongue.

Still, it’s gone quickly enough, the cool liquid a blessing as it slides down his abused throat and his stomach only cramps for a moment, then settles around it again. He hands the glass back once he’s finished and watches as the man bends down with a sigh to set the fallen tray upright and place the glass on top of it, ignoring the surgical tools scattered across the tiles for now. Jughead faintly hopes that’s a good sign.

“Alright, then. How are you feeling?” The man asks matter-of-factly and Jughead scrunches up his nose and frowns at him.

“I’m – who are you? And what the Hell is this place?” Jughead manages, sounding weaker than he’d like, his voice a mess, rough and thin and speaking feels weirdly uncomfortable, like his vocal cords are grating against sandpaper as they move. He clears his throat and coughs lightly once he’s gotten the words out, wiping his mouth with the back of an unsteady hand.

“Ah, of course.” The man sighs lightly and crosses his arms in front of his chest in what Jughead thinks is an attempt to get more comfortable. “You weren’t exactly lucid when you got here. I’m Dr. Curdle and this –“ He pauses to gesture vaguely at their surroundings “– is the basement of Riverdale General Hospital. The morgue, to be a bit more precise. I function as the resident coroner as what you might call my ‘day job’, although I do actually prefer to work at night, if I have a say about it. But that’s not why you’re here, obviously. I provide a more… shall we say ‘specialized’… service on the side. For a certain, less common clientele. You were in a pretty bad way last night. Almost didn’t make it. You were lucky your… _friends_ … got you here when they did, young Mr. Jones. So, if I might ask again, how are feeling?”

“I – I don’t know. Pretty shit, I think, but – Wait. This is the _morgue_?” Jughead blurts out, slow to catch up with and process the man’s words in his addled state, eyes wide as he takes in his surroundings one more time. It makes a chilling sort of sense, he thinks faintly. The look and the smell of the place… Jughead shudders, sitting on the stainless steel examination table with his legs dangling off the side of it. An _autopsy table_ , he realizes, his stomach dropping out and the color draining from his face. Jughead’s skin starts to crawl and he has the sudden, strong urge to get the hell off of the damn thing, but as soon as he tries to move, a strangely cool and very firm hand lands on his chest and stops him.

“Easy now, Mr. Jones. You wouldn’t want to fall onto your face again, now would you?” Dr. Curdle says in a softly chiding voice, his hand strong and solid where it holds Jughead back and Jughead jerks away from his touch instinctively, almost overbalancing himself in his haste to pull away. A surge of repulsion bubbling up inside of him and taking over, so strong his gums itch with it as he leans back and tries to calm his racing pulse back down.

“Hmm. I see.” Dr. Curdle pulls his hand back, looking coolly contemplative as his eyes trace Jughead in a way that makes Jughead feel a little like a lifeless corpse waiting to be cut open. He pulls the blanket tighter around himself carefully, trying not to be too obvious about his discomfort. When he glances over Dr. Curdle’s shoulder, he can see Toni looking at the both of them, the quiet hurt on her face more muted now, but still evident as she chews on her bottom lip distractedly.

“What happened? What the hell is wrong with me?” Jughead finally manages, his tongue darting out to wet dry lips and something anxious fluttering around in ihs stomach as he waits for Dr. Curdle to speak. He’s still not sure what all of this is, or why he’s _here_ of all places, but if he has a chance to get some answers to whatever it is that’s been happening to him, he’s sure as fuck not going to let that pass.

“Ah, yes. I suppose you’d want to know that.” Dr. Curdle says, his brows furrowing as he tilts his head at an odd angle, and it takes Jughead a moment to realize that he’s scanning the space beneath the examination table. Eventually, Dr. Curdle’s brows rise as his eyes lock on whatever it is he’s looking for and he reaches forward to pull a mobile chair with a small, round seat and no backrest, all made out of stainless steel as well, out from under the table and then sinks onto it, settling in and getting comfortable.

“Why don’t we start with you telling me what you already know, what you remember. Just out of curiosity.” Dr. Curdle eyes Jughead expectantly, in a cool sort of way that just serves to heighten Jughead’s discomfort. He can’t help but squirm slightly under that analytical gaze, shifting in his seat around the ache in his protesting muscles as he tries to gather his thoughts enough to answer that question, his eyes darting over to Toni again, not sure how much he can actually say. Toni catches him looking and gives him a tight-lipped nod and so he figures he won’t have to edit himself on her behalf at least. Doesn’t mean that Jughead trusts this guy, though, not by a long shot, or that he feels like going into any sort of detail about what had – about the worst of it.

He has no idea what to make of the fact that Sweet Pea isn’t here right now, but he knows that it’s probably a bad idea to get his hopes up at all. Sweet Pea is going to be back, he knows that with a certainty that’s hard to explain, but he tries to push the thought away as soon as it surfaces, for the way it makes his breathing quicken and his stomach pull painfully tight, phantom memories of heat and pain scratching at the back of his mind with sharp little claws. Pushes until he feels nothing at all anymore, nothing but that familiar, treacherous numbness, that he knows can’t last. But it’s better than nothing, he’s got so little left of himself as it is, he needs to hold onto that.

“Uhm. I’m not really sure where to start.” Jughead admits weakly, but all Dr. Curdle does is raise an arching eyebrow at him and then brush his words away with a shrug.

“Alright. We’ll start with the easy bits, then.” Dr. Curdle leans back in his chair a little as he regards Jughead closely, his eyes straying to Jughead’s neck, where the bruises must still stand out as a mark of Sweet Pea’s temper, and then landing on his face again.

“I assume you’re aware of the fact that your ‘tall friend’ is a werewolf?” Jughead gives a jerky nod, when it becomes clear that Dr. Curdle is waiting for some sort of reaction from him, before going on. Regardless of how strange it still feels to hear the words spoken out loud, to acknowledge them as true, a real. “And the fact that that nice little ring of teeth indents on your nape is a mating bite?” Jughead gives another nod, his throat closing up around any sound he might have wanted to make, and he grinds his teeth against the turmoil beating more and more insistently at the fragile cover of numbness he’s wrapped himself in. The gauze feels rough and scratchy at against the scabbed over wound.

“And I suppose you’ve noticed by now that things aren’t exactly going as they’re supposed to, I’d think?” That’s a fucking understatement, Jughead thinks, a hot wave of anger rushing through him and he clenches his teeth almost painfully tight as he nods again, his fingers digging into the hard edge of the examination table and the blanket he’s holding over his lap. “Well, that’s something to go on, I suppose. I don’t know if you’re aware of how a mating bond is _supposed_ to work for werewolves, but this is very obviously not it. The bite is what initiates the process. It’s a sort of claiming, a clear mark to put off anyone else who might be interested. A little like peeing onto things to mark off territory.”

Jughead really has to work to not throw something glib and rude back at the man, not just at his words, but at his tone of voice as he says them. Dr. Curdle sounds like he’s talking about the peculiar behavior of some animal in a textbook or a weird nature documentary, not Jughead’s fucking life. It makes Jughead wonder if the man sees him as an actual person at all or just another curiosity without agency or emotions attached to make things messy for him. But as much as Jughead hates all that, he still figures that it’s best to just let the man talk if he wants to get his answers, so that’s what Jughead does. Besides, he doesn’t think he has enough strength left in him to argue the point either way.

“It’s a little different when both parties involved are were-creatures of some sort, but in your case, since you’re plainly human and have no magic of your own, the next step of the mating ritual is for your partner’s ‘magic’ – for lack of a better, less generic word – to seep into you. To settle into your body, your soul – if you believe in that – and form a bond between the two of you, though how exactly that bond manifests itself is, apparently, a thing quite individual and therefore hard to predict. The point of the matter is that it’s a highly invasive process and not everyone takes well to it. As I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Dr. Curdle leans forward suddenly, the movement small and controlled, but abrupt enough to make Jughead flinch back reflexively, an intent look in Dr. Curdle’s eyes that only serves to reinforce the feeling of being scrutinized like an insect under a microscope. “Is your _friend_ forcing himself on you, Mr. Jones?”

Jughead freezes for a moment, caught under that intense gaze, his breath stuck in his throat and his mind going blank, head swimming precariously as the man’s words sink their claws into him. He forces himself to draw in air, to inhale deeply and try to calm himself back down, then presses his answer out through gritted teeth. “What do you think?” He spits, not bothering to make an effort at being polite about it. The way he fucking looks should be more than enough of an indication, Jughead thinks, bile rising up his sore throat and burning at the back of his tongue. Even halfway covered by the blanket as he is, the bruises are still more than evident.

Dr. Curdle leans back again, giving Jughead a little more space to breathe, and shrugs lightly, as if he’s talking about the fucking weather, as if he couldn’t give a shit either way. “Werewolves can have trouble managing their strength sometimes, especially in a situation as volatile and instinct-driven as the time between finding a new mate and having the bond settle. A werewolf’s instincts are a harsh, cruel mistress at the best of times and the world is an ugly place indeed, Mr. Jones. Though, I suppose, if you were happy with what is currently happening to you, you wouldn’t be here now.”

Jughead has no idea what to say to any of that. He’s got a hard time keeping the anger at bay as it is, that low simmer in his blood, just waiting to rise and drown out the queasy, invasive fear churning in his gut, the cold panic twisting insistently, and this guy with his weird curiosity and cold dismissive attitude just keeps feeding into it. But, even with all that, Jughead can’t help but notice Dr. Curdle’s strange intonation when he uses the word ‘ugly’. He makes it sound like it’s something fascinating, something that draws him in, rather than something appalling and Jughead’s creeping suspicion that this place isn’t the safe haven he’d hoped for, that it would probably be better if he stayed as shortly as possible, keeps growing. Making him feel antsy and uneasy beneath the crushing, achy weariness.

“You must be very stubborn, indeed, Mr. Jones. As I understand it, it’s fairly rare for things to go this spectacularly wrong and I haven’t yet had the pleasure to see a case of it first-hand.” Dr. Curdle smiles at Jughead, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, they stay just as cold and analytical as they were, and it makes goosebumps break out all over Jughead’s skin, his eyes reflexively darting to the surgical tools strewn across the tiles of the floor, all of them hopelessly out of reach.

“From what I understand, you have been fighting the bond with such intensity that you’ve managed to corrupt its magic. Twisting it into something vile and vicious that has turned against its host, namely you. You were a hair’s breadth away from death’s door when your friends brought you in, as I’ve mentioned. It had begun to invade your lungs, suffocating you slowly. Your body was trying to fight it off with a fever, much like it would an infection – which I suppose it could be seen as, in a way – but that does little to deter these sorts of things. I managed to help for now. As you might have guessed, due to the fact that you’re still breathing.”

A surge of something new and almost painfully bright, something Jughead doesn’t dare name in fear of breaking it before it’s fully formed, has him sitting up straighter, his breath coming quicker as he clutches at the autopsy table. “You fixed it? You broke the bond?” He tries so hard not to sound as fucking as desperate as he feels, but he can see by the look on Dr. Curdle’s face that he’s failed miserably.

“I’m afraid it’s not quite _that_ simple, Mr. Jones.” Dr. Curdle says, his features going a little softer. Halfheartedly trying to convey sympathy, Jughead thinks, but falling awkwardly short. That tiny, foolish burst of hope shatters half-formed in Jughead’s chest, it’s edges cutting deep and he bites his lip harshly to hold back the sting of tears. Stupid to even let himself go there in the first place. So fucking stupid. But he’s too tired and worn out to fight it. “The mating bond, once initiated, can be broken one way and one way only: through the death of either one or both parties involved. Aside from that, the only thing that can be done is to let it run its course until its magic has settled and it is satisfied. There’s no two ways about it. All I was able to do was… _delay_ the process a bit. Get some of it out of your system, out of your lungs, and slow down its spread to buy you some time. But that’s all it is. If you want to survive, you will have to find a way to accept your fate and, shall I say, ‘open yourself up’ to the bond so that it can complete what was started.”

Jughead tries not to let the heavy weight of despair sinking down on him crush him beneath it, he really does, but he’s just not sure _how_ to. Time, that’s all it is. They’re going to make him go back to Sweet Pea and his trailer, to that gloomy hell of sharp, erratic eruptions of violence and unwanted, sickening, invasive gentleness eating away at him bit by horrible bit. And it will be exactly the way it was before, he’ll be trapped there utterly helpless and alone.

His palms go clammy against the skin-warm metal of the examination table and he can feel his breathing quicken, more and more, each new breath shorter than the last, providing less oxygen, heightening the feeling of being trapped, the invisible steel bands tightening around his limbs and leaving him frozen where he is as the control he’d been able to exert over the blind, cold panic in his gut slips. His vision narrowing and growing blurry, the walls of the room around him starting to draw closer, the space he’s occupying shrinking more and more and the feel feeding into the frantic, desperate flutter of his pulse.

A small, vicious little voice at the back of his head whispers softly to him through the roaring chaos in his head, the words dark and malicious, that maybe it would have been better if he’d just died. If he hadn’t made it after all. At least then it would have been over, at least then he’d have been free of this Hell he’s trapped in that he still doesn’t fully understand. Because he _can’t_ – he can’t go back, he can’t fucking do this anymore.

“Mr. Jones. _Breathe_.” Dr. Curdle’s voice breaks through the rush of whitenoise in Jughead’s head all at once. His eyes focusing on the fingers snapping in front of his face so abruptly it’s almost painful and he hadn’t even realized that he’d stopped breathing entirely until he comes back to himself. His lungs burning, Jughead draws in one deep breath, then another, and just like that all goes quiet again and what’s left behind is a horrible, aching exhaustion he doesn’t know what to do with as he sags into himself where he’s sitting. A lightheaded sort of dizziness taking hold of him as he tries to concentrate on keeping his breathing even. “There, that’s better.”

Behind Dr. Curdle, Toni’s gotten up out of her seat, frozen in mid-step with one of her hands raised awkwardly, but she drops it to her side quickly as soon as she catches Jughead looking. There’s a strange sort of helplessness in the way she stands there, looking smaller than usual, and almost as tired as Jughead feels. Even if the expression on her face seems a little more composed than it was before. Jughead squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as he tries to focus on what’s important right now, tries to sort the mess in his head into something that makes sense, something he can use to keep himself going just for now, one fucking moment after the other. Breathe, focus, function.

He can do it. He fucking has to.

“So how does this work now?” Jughead asks, his voice a lot steadier than he’d have expected with how shaky he feels, gaze drifting back to Dr. Curdle. Because he needs something to latch onto, the next logical step, to let the sharpness of his analytical mind push him onward even when it feels like the rest of him has nothing left to follow with.

Dr. Curdle nods once curtly, looking as collected as ever, entirely unperturbed by Jughead’s little panic attack. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the amulet around your neck by now.” He makes a brief gesture to indicate it and Jughead lets his gaze wander to the center of his chest, desperate for something to focus on other than the vicious, squirming despair in his gut, just waiting for him to slip up again so that it can overtake him. Predictably, the black pendant still rests there, just above his heart and at the center of the black veins that appear to be weaving outward from it. He lets go of the blanket for a moment, so that he can let his shaky fingers trace over the bumpy, warm stone. If he squints a little and looks really closely, he can just so make out the lines of etchings running along it, though he doesn’t recognize any of the symbols or patterns they form.

“It’s designed to dampen the magic, slow it down as much as is safely possible. Like I said before, it won’t stop the spread, but it will buy you time. As long as you _wear_ it. So I’d advise to keep it against your skin at all times. At least until you feel as though you’re ready to open up to the bond and accept it. Otherwise you will end up very much dead, and the getting there is going to be distinctly uncomfortable, if your previous experiences are anything to go by.” Dr. Curdle goes on, that weird intensity creeping back into his gaze. “Which is not to say that it wouldn’t be absolutely fascinating to have you on one of my tables and be able to take a… _closer look_ at things. But your friends did pay the agreed upon price for your treatment, so I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

Jughead’s gaze snaps back up to Dr. Curdle at his words, spoken as though talking about the fucking weather and not the prospect of getting to cut open Jughead’s dead body. Dr. Curdle just offers him another one of those fake smiles, the intensity in his eyes almost piercing, and it chases a cold shudder down Jughead’s spine.

“Allow me this one question, Mr. Jones.” Dr. Curdle says, his words more rushed than they were before, almost as though he can’t quite help himself, as though his morbid curiosity is getting the better of him and Jughead swallows thickly in the wake of it. “How does it _feel_? The darkness slowly eating away at you, the vile bitterness making a home inside of you, spreading out slowly, taking you over. Can you feel it twisting beneath your skin? Can you feel the way it reaches into your soul?”

“I –“ Jughead starts, but the rest of the words get stuck in his throat as that horrible, barely controlled panic flares back up, Dr. Curdles darkly curious gaze, almost manic in its fervor as it pierces into him. Calling back memories of darkness and heat, of that alien wrongness writhing around inside of him, slowly seeping into his lungs, straining towards Sweet Pea’s touch, thick and invasive and impossible to fight. Much, much too vivid and Jughead has to push down on them with all his might to fight back the sudden, intense wave of nausea that has his stomach cramping painfully all over again. He doesn’t think he’s got it in him, throwing up again, he doesn’t think his body could handle that. “I don’t think I want to talk about it.” He finally manages to say, his voice thin and strained and his hands shaking badly where they clutch too tight.

“Ah.” Dr. Curdle mutters, snapping back out of it as though the moment’d never happened, returning to his calm, collected self so quickly it leaves Jughead feeling vaguely dizzy. Although it’s hard to miss the faint hint of disappointment glimmering in the man’s eyes as he settles. “I suppose that’s understandable.”

“I’ll give you some of that tincture I used to extract part of the magic from your body and a bit of ointment for your bite wound – I think that may have gotten a tad bit infected – to take home with you. Though you should only use the tincture in emergencies. It has the potential to do as much harm as it does good and you wouldn’t want to accidentally poison yourself. Besides, I’m sure you still remember, at least in part, how unpleasant the experience of using it was. It takes quite the toll on the body.” He adds, businesslike and brusque, and then gets up out of his perch on his chair and turns to walk over to his desk, past Toni, who’s still standing there looking on, her brows furrowed in a frown. There, Dr. Curdle retrieves a fist-sized vial of brown glass and a small, off-white cream jar from the midst oft the clutter, holding the vial up to the light briefly, and Jughead can see the liquid sloshing around inside, darker than the glass itself.

“There we are.” Dr. Curdle murmurs, more to himself than to either of the other two occupants of the room, as he regards the vial with a critical eye. Then he lowers it and hands it and the jar to Toni, who accepts both cautiously, careful as she stows the items away in one of the pockets of her leather jacket, making it bulge awkwardly. “I trust you’ll take good care of it.” Dr. Curdle adds, sounding kind of absent, as if he couldn’t care less what she does with the things.

“Now, then.” Dr. Curdle says with a faint air of finality, letting his gaze drift back over to Jughead. “Do you have any more questions? Because I really should be getting back to the matter of my actual employ here.”

There’s only one question Jughead can think of and he’s not sure he really wants to know the answer, but in the end, he manages to make himself as it anyway. “How long?”

“Ah, of course.” The man rests his hands on his hips lightly as he speaks, acting as though not having mentioned it before is a minor oversight he’d just been reminded of. “It’s hard to say exactly. These things vary and they hinge on a lot of factors. I’d roughly estimate a week, though, two at the most. So I’d really focus on getting things in order, if I were you. But you’ll feel it coming, I can assure you of that much. And I don’t think you’re going to like it much. But I’m sure you’re well aware of _that_.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Dr. Curdle drops his hands and makes a vague gesture towards the door he came in through. “I have a body I need to finish dissecting. Poor Mr. Gallager, who does actually appear to have died of natural causes, no foul play involved, despite what his late wife keeps insisting. Things of actual _interest_ are few and far between, I’m afraid to say, although I have been noticing a slight upward trend lately. You can wait in here until you friends come back for you. But I’d ask you avoid coming into the autopsy room unless absolutely necessary. _People_ are liable to drop by unannounced this time of morning, on occasion. Even though I keep going out of my way to make clear how much I dislike it when that happens.”

With that, Dr. Curdle turns and walks out of the room, leaving Toni and Jughead behind, a strained sort of silence falling over them as Jughead tries miserably to pull himself together. Fidgeting a little, Toni pulls her phone out of one of the pockets of her jacket and checks it for new messages, reading for a moment, brows furrowed, before slipping it back. Then, a little reluctantly, she turns to face Jughead, walking over to where he’s still sitting hunched over weakly on the examination table, unease and ache churning sharply in his gut, cold tendrils of barely suppressed panic weaving through insistently. Doing his best to concentrate on breathing and keeping his mind as blank as he can.

“Sweet Pea and Fangs went back to the trailer to get you some clothes.” Toni says softly and Jughead can’t help but flinch at the mention of them, her words tearing him harshly out of his thoughts, out of his forced calm. “They should be here soon.”

“Great.” Jughead forces himself to say, his tone harsh and unkind. He feels like he’s at the end of his fucking rope, heavy and hollow and all he wants to do is lie down and close his eyes and pretend like none of this is real, like he’ll fall asleep and when he wakes up he’ll be back in his dad’s trailer with a crick in his neck from having spent another night on their stupid old couch. The one that still smells faintly of old beer from all of the times his father has spilled the stuff on it. But that’s not going to happen, regardless of how much the idea of it calls out to his fatigue-drunk mind, and thinking about it is only going to make it worse, so he focuses on Toni instead.

“I just want to get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.” She says, her eyes wandering over to the closed door as she shivers lightly. Jughead has no trouble at all believing her. He doesn’t want to stay here any longer than he has to either. The only things keeping him from trying to walk out of those doors, half-naked or not, is the fact that he’s not sure he’d manage to get onto his feet without his legs giving out on him again, and that he knows exactly what he’d be walking _towards,_ and that freezes him to the spot more effectively than anything else.

“Why did you take me here, then?” Jughead bites out, fear, frustration, weariness, the dull ache thrumming through the entire stretch of his body, all intertwining and translating into a bitter sort of moroseness, but Toni seems to have gathered herself again, because she just acts as though she doesn’t notice his snappishness. Her tone of voice is purposefully calm and soft when she answers him and all that does is grate at Jughead even more. He doesn’t fucking want her sympathy if she’s not going to help him, he hates the way it makes him want to lean into her, soak up what little comfort he can find. Weak and stupid like he can’t fucking afford to be, even as he can feel himself slipping into it, worn so fucking thin already.

“Because he’s the only person I could think of who I though would be able to help.” She says, her eyes pulling away from the door and moving back to Jughead somewhat reluctantly, but taking care to fix onto his face and avoid the rest of him that’s still on harsh display.

“I’ve never had a reason to come here before, but he has… a reputation with people like us. People know that he pays good money for information on pretty much anything _strange_. Books, artifacts, stories. As long as it’s something he hasn’t heard of or seen yet. And he provides certain… services. If you can pay him, that is. He’s not cheap, but we managed, just barely. I don’t know how he got into all of this.” Toni makes a gesture encompassing the room with all of its oddities and the autopsy table Jughead is still seated on. “He’s been at it since long before I came back to Riverdale. Since before I’d left with my dad. Or at least that’s what you hear. I’ve also been told, more than once, not to trust him too much, if you can help it. I don’t know why exactly, no one would say. All I know is that he gives me a _bad feeling_ , if you know what I mean. But, like I said, we didn’t have a choice. You wouldn’t have – you wouldn’t have made it if we hadn’t done anything.”

They can hear a faint buzzing sound drifting in from the other room, even through the closed door, and Jughead tries really hard not to think about what exactly it’s coming from. For a second, too weary to fight it off, an image of himself flashes before his mind’s eye, his skin pale and cold, lying on one of the steel tables in the other room, the skin over his chest peeled back in a neat y-cut and his ribs cracked open to reveal his heart, clutched tight in a black, writhing mass of wrongness. It makes his throat close up all over again and he pushes it away as quickly as he can.

“Look.” Toni turns to him more fully, the movement abrupt and jerky and the expression on her face intense, her mouth twisting at a pained angle and her eyes boring into his in an unexpected burst of emotion. “I _hate_ where we are right now, alright? But we – there was nothing else we _could_ have done, you’ve got to understand that.”

Jughead furrows his brows in confusion and it takes him a moment to get what she’s talking about, that she doesn’t mean taking him to Dr. Curdle, but… everything. This whole fucking mess that they’re in now. Jughead has to clench his teeth harshly to keep himself from biting something cruel back at her. From saying more than he can afford to right now. And it seems like Toni isn’t finished yet, either way.

“We were _fucking scared_.” She rushes out, her voice hushed, as if she’s afraid saying it too loudly will make it too real, or maybe she’s worried that Dr. Curdle could somehow still be overhearing them. Jughead doesn’t fucking care. “Sweet Pea hasn’t been in a good place for a while now and it’s been getting worse ever since his grandmother died two years ago. It’s like I said before, werewolves _need_ pack, they need their own to keep them balanced. It’s amazing how much self-control his grandmother must have had to have survived on her own as long as she did without giving herself away. We’ve been doing everything we can, Fangs and I, we really have, but it’s just not the same when it’s humans, no matter how much Sweet Pea sees us as family, as pack. And – the outbursts, the violence, it just – you _saw_ him.”

“He’s trying, I know he is, but – he’s been slipping more and more. You don’t know what it’s like to watch someone you love go through something like that. When all you can do is sit there helplessly and _watch_ it happen.” The look in Toni’s eyes impacts Jughead like a physical thing, sinks into him and _twists_.

Because he knows that look much too intimately. He’s seen it staring back at him from the mirror more times than he can count. And he could tell her that he knows _exactly_ what it’s like to lose someone you love in horrible little increments, to stand by helplessly as they spiral into their own slow destruction, taking everyone around them down with them, leaving behind a mess of broken things wherever they step. He could, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t _want_ to sympathize with any of it. He wants to hold onto his anger and use that to cover up the pain that blooms in his chest like a flower unfurling, thorns and poison everywhere, but he’s so fucking _tired_ it’s getting harder and harder to remember why he’s still fighting.

“And then, out of fucking nowhere, _you_ happened.” She says, her arms gesticulating at him as if he’s supposed to know what that means, as if, again, it’s somehow _his_ fault. “And, Sweet Pea sort of... changed. Don’t get me wrong, you have a baffling talent for getting under his skin and riling him up. I’ve never met anyone with a self-preservation instinct as weak as yours. You can be such an idiot sometimes. But. The fact that he let you _get away_ with it, that he didn’t jump at the first chance he got to knock your teeth out and leave you bleeding on the floor, especially after you rejected his offer of friendship that first day, that kind of took us all by surprise.

“For some reason, you were different for him. He seemed more like his old self when you were around. Not necessarily less angry, but less violent, less prone to do something about it, at least with you. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like you turned into the eye of the storm that he kept getting swept up in. And it took us a bit to figure out why, because Sweet Pea is kind of bad at articulating himself when it comes to his feelings, but… turns out it’s because he _likes_ you.”

“And not just him, but his wolf, too, which is probably the part that explains it all. He kind of imprinted on you in a weirdly angry sort of way. But it was something. It gave us hope we didn’t think we had. I thought it – a mate – might mean that would have been the solution to all of his problems, the balance and stability that he so badly needs. It’s not like we didn’t want you around – _you_ were the one who did your best to avoid us at first – we were just weary, I guess. Not sure, if we could trust you. Not sure, if we could trust what was happening to Sweet Pea when you were around and how it would play out.”

“But it was pretty of obvious that you liked Sweet Pea back, you know, in a reluctant, I-don’t-want-to-see-it kind of way. I’m pretty sure that’s one of the reasons you kept butting heads with him. And it looked like you were getting closer and like maybe things were actually working out, even if we had no clue how to pull off bringing you into the fold, but before we had a chance to think of something –“ Toni cuts herself off, her face pulling into a tight grimace. And yeah, Jughead knows _exactly_ what she’s talking about. And he can see the way she’s trying to keep herself composed, the steel in the line of her jaw, the way the muscles work as she pulls her lips tight. But he can see the turmoil underneath just the same, the whirl of emotion twisting behind her dark eyes. Jughead bites his own lip harshly, the hurt that blooms from where his teeth dig in cutting sharply through the flickering haze in his head as he tries to keep a handle on his breathing and take in her rushing words.

“We were trying to keep it slow, to keep both of you safe, but there’s been so much going on and we just – you’re so fucking stubborn and you just wouldn’t _listen_ and then everything went wrong and we just kind of panicked. We were trying to save what we could given the situation. But it’s just – instead of getting better, things have only been getting worse. Sweet Pea’s so much less in control than he was before and it’s eating away at him so badly and you’re – I never thought he’d hurt you like _this_. This _badly_. I – I never meant for anything like that to happen.”

“Look.” Finally winding down, the urgency seeping out of her as she takes a deep breath and sighs it out again, Toni’s eyes soften and she seems more collected, her back straighter and her eyes a little harder when she speaks again. The moment of stark vulnerability gone. “I don’t expect you to understand, alright? And I sure as Hell don’t expect your sympathy or your forgiveness. If I were you, I’d have nothing but hate for all of us and you have every right, I fucking know that. But I needed you to know _why_ , alright? We can’t take it back, any of it. It’s done. We’re right in the fucking middle of this fucking mess. And I know it’s not even close to fair, but you’re going to have to find a way to accept it, to accept Sweet Pea, if you want to survive.”

“Believe me, I know how fucked up that is. But maybe hearing this stuff will help you stay alive somehow. You’re a fighter. That much is obvious. Sweet Pea’s wolf wouldn’t have chosen you, if he didn’t see something in you. You _have_ to stay alive. And for what little it’s worth, I _am_ sorry.” Those last words are spoken softly, even though the line of her mouth stays hard and unrelenting through it all. For a moment, Jughead thinks she’s going to reach out for him, but she stops herself before she can get there and Jughead’s not sure how to feel about that. He doesn’t _want_ to be touched, maybe ever again, but at the same time, it feels like all he wants to do is lean into her, towards that hint of softness, badly enough that his bones ache with it, his head spinning as her words sink into him. But in the end, he just sits there and tries to make sense of what she said.

There’s so much to unpack there, so much warped and twisted and fucked-up sentiment wrapped up in a messy jumble of words and somehow, the one thing that Jughead’s weary, exhausted mind latches onto is almost surprises him as well, but he doesn’t even know how to fight it any more, regardless of how pathetic and stupid it makes him feel as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

“That means, that you – the Serpents – you don’t actually hate me?” His head, his face, feel hot, feverish almost. Not with illness, but rather with the emotional exertion of it, the mess that they’re making of him. His words sound rushed, desperate and he hates himself for it the moment they tumble from his lips. It’s too late to take them back, though, and he doesn’t try, he doesn’t have the fucking energy to. He just – he so desperately needs something that isn’t cruelty or violence or rejection that he’ll latch onto the faintest promise of it with whatever he’s got left in him. He sits there and watches the expressions flit over Toni’s face, messy and churning, and it takes a moment before she gets a hold on herself, confusion settling more prominently as she speaks. Her eyes soft and sad as she gazes up at him.

“What? No. Of course not.” She shakes her head lightly, her bright pink hair flopping about her shoulders in small little waves. Her big, pretty eyes soft and sad and bewildered, a little like someone just slapped her in the face out of nowhere. “After everything – _that’s_ what you were worried about?”

Jughead opens his mouth, desperate to say something else, anything to stop the way his gut is twisting, the way his chest feels raw and hollowed out, or the strange warmth of the amulet stuck to his chest like some kind of weird little magnet. But the door to the room they’re waiting in opens before his addled mind can come up with anything. Fangs and Sweet Pea step in, Fangs holding a small stack of clothes and a worn pair of black boots that look to be Jughead’s pressed against his chest. Fangs scowls a little at the way both Jughead’s and Toni’s gaze snaps over to them so suddenly.

But Jughead’s attention isn’t on him, not really. His eyes latch onto Sweet Pea immediately, the sight of him making everything in Jughead tense up, his insides frozen and his mind going blank as Sweet Pea meets his gaze with dark eyes. There’s a small, logical part of Jughead that knows Sweet Pea won’t try anything here, now, but that thought hardly makes it better at all, it doesn’t have a chance against the fear clogging up his throat, his head, his heart straining to keep up with the new rhythm of his pulse as it races along.

Sweet Pea narrows his eyes at Jughead and bares his teeth in a silent snarl and Jughead can see how raw Sweet Pea’s lips look, the skin around them reddened and irritated and Jughead has a flash of memory, of blistering skin and spitting blood. Instead of stepping further into the room and towards Jughead, like Jughead had been afraid of, though, Sweet Pea just takes a step to the side and leans back against the tiled wall, crossing his arms in front of his chest sullenly. And that, that manages to calm Jughead down just enough to notice that something’s not quite right.

Sweet Pea is moving differently, his normally smooth and predatory motions seeming stilted and slow, like someone who’s in pain, Jughead thinks confusedly. And he looks paler, too, the skin around his eyes and mouth drawn tight in a muted kind of discomfort. Sweet Pea doesn’t quite look as bad as Jughead feels, but he’s definitely not doing great, either. When Jughead’s eyes drift away from Sweet Pea’s face, from the intense gaze he’s pinning Jughead down with, Jughead can see a thin leather cord around his neck, next to the chain of the solitary dog tag he always wears, disappearing beneath the neckline of his shirt. Just like the one holding Jughead’s own amulet. Before Jughead can decide whether or not he wants to ask about it, though, Fangs pipes up and startles him out of his train of thought.

“What?” Fangs murmurs, looking at both Jughead and Toni a little suspiciously, but Toni just shakes her head and sighs, her tough facade coming back up as she straightens her spine and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Fangs looks just as tired as the rest of them, Jughead notes a little numbly as his eyes snap back over to him. Jughead guesses no-one got a lot of rest last night, then. It’s hard not to feel at least a small flare of grim satisfaction at that, even if it doesn’t last for long. Jughead’s too fucking tired and tense to hold onto it.

“Let’s just hurry up and get the Hell out of here. I really don’t like this place and you guys took forever.” She says, walking over to take the clothes from Fangs and placing them in Jughead’s lap with a pointedly raised eyebrow. “You need help with getting dressed?” She adds softly, some small hint of that confusion and unease still reflecting in her eyes, leaving her looking unsettled despite her efforts to be brusque and cover it.

Jughead freezes up at her question, his eyes darting over to Sweet Pea. But when it looks like Sweet Pea isn’t going to move away from his perch against the wall, the only thing that happens the frown on his face deepening when he sees Jughead staring, Jughead lets out an unsteady breath and shrugs his shoulders jerkily as he sets his clothes down next to himself on the autopsy table. “No, just – if it looks like I’m about to fall off of the fucking table, don’t let me.” Jughead presses out and reaches for his t-shirt with shaky hands.

“Yeah.” Toni says softly, but Jughead doesn’t look up to see the expression on her face. He doesn’t fucking want to. It’s costing him enough just to get the damn t-shirt over his head without keeling over. Every movement fucking hurts and he has to clench his teeth and fight through the dizziness, slow and awkward with his motions. But he manages his t-shirt and shirt on his own. When he sees his beanie lying on his folded up jeans, something in Jughead’s stomach pulls painfully tight and he snatches it up and pulls it over his messy, sweat-matted hair almost too quickly. One small bit of normalcy, of comfort, and he’s more grateful for it than he can say just then. He needs it so fucking much.

Jughead does end up requiring help when it comes to his socks and jeans, Toni’s small hands on his shoulders keeping him from keeling over as he leans down to pull the socks onto his feet and slip into the legs of his pants clumsily and he’s breathing hard by the time he comes back up to reach for his boots. Doesn’t even bother to tie the laces properly after getting his feet into them, he knows that it’s not ideal, but that it’ll fucking work anyway. Jughead keeps his eyes downcast, very deliberately not meeting anyone’s gaze, when he slips off of the autopsy table with Toni’s help and leans against it as he pulls his jeans up his thighs and over his hips. By the time he’s done, his hands are trembling so badly he almost doesn’t manage the zipper and button, his belt clanking miserably as he finally pulls it tight and fastens it. It’s so fucking good to feel his own clothes against his skin.

He just stands there with his eyes closed for a moment afterward, clutching at the hard steel edge of the autopsy table as he waits for his breathing to slow down again and the gray spots dancing across his vision like TV static to fade. He can fucking do this. Move, function, don’t think about anything except what’s directly in front of him, the next shaky inhale, the next ungainly step. Nothing else.

Jughead pulls in one more deep breath, steeling himself, then opens his eyes, drapes one careful arm over Toni’s shoulders and tries not to flinch when she wraps her own arm around his waist in turn, then clenches his teeth and moves along with her towards the door. It’s a slow, awkward process, Toni trying to help as best she can and Jughead trying not to put too much weight on her as he struggles along. He can’t even remember the last time he felt this shitty.

“Jeez.” Fangs mumbles under his breath, impatience weaving through the morose tone and when Fangs reaches out and wraps his fingers around Jughead’s wrist without warning, Jughead startles badly enough to make both himself and Toni stumble precariously. “Fuck. Chill, man. I’m just trying to help.” Fangs snaps at him, but Jughead can tell by the look on his face that he’s almost as spooked by Jughead’s reaction as Jughead was by his touch. So Jughead keeps his mouth shut and does his best to get his breathing back under control as Fangs draws Jughead’s other arm up and over his shoulder, Fangs’ arm crossing over Toni’s on Jughead’s back. It’s like the tiredness has stripped away all of Jughead’s defenses and left him a bundle of raw, exposed nerves, ready to topple back into a mindless panic any second.

Jughead doesn’t like it, all that physical contact makes his skin itch and his stomach feel hard and queasy, but it’s still better than _Sweet Pea_ touching him and Jughead does his best not to look at Sweet Pea as Toni and Fangs half-drag him along. He still catches the unhappy scowl on Sweet Pea’s face, though, as he huffs out an angry breath and pushes away from the wall he’s been leaning against to stalk around the three of them and grab the discarded blanket from the autopsy table. His movements heavier, more laborious, than Jughead remembers, even though he can tell that Sweet Pea’s doing his best to hide it.

As soon as they walk through the heavy iron door, out of the back room and into the actual autopsy room, the scent that had been present, but faint, half-hidden underneath the disinfectant hits Jughead fully and he finally manages to make out what it is. The sickly sweet, cloying scent of rotting flesh, of death and decay, and Jughead can feel his stomach turn unpleasantly, cramping around the bit of water he drank earlier sharply as nausea bubbles up. Both Toni and Fangs wrinkle their nose in disgust, but they don’t say anything, just quicken their step a little on their way through the room, pulling Jughead along with them.

Across from them, Jughead catches a glance of Dr. Curdle, dressed in his full getup again, elbow-deep in the guts of what looks to have been a short, gangly old man with balding gray hair and wrinkled-paper skin spotty with age. On a surface behind him, Jughead can just so make out a row of differently sized see-through plastic containers holding what looks like an array of various organs. Before he can take in too much of it, though, Jughead snaps his gaze away and locks it onto the door out into the hallway, trying his best to push the images away. At another time, under different circumstances, Jughead thinks faintly, he might have actually gotten a kick out of being here, out of the ghoulishness of it all, a dark sort of curiosity satisfied, but now all it does is make him feel dizzy and ill.

“Do remember to take the back door out when you leave, please.” Dr. Curdle calls after them, sounding distracted and slightly annoyed. No one bothers with an answer.

The fresh air, when it finally hits Jughead as they step out of the building, is a god-send. He just takes a moment to draw in a couple of deep breaths, leaning heavily on Toni as Fangs extracts himself to go get the car. It still looks to be early in the day, judging by the quality of the light and how empty the hospital parking lot is, but Jughead has no idea what time it is exactly. He doesn’t even know what fucking day it is. The thought gets lost again quickly enough, though, scattered when Fangs drives up in a battered old truck, beige-brown paint with rust spots all over the exterior, and the rumble of the engine drowns out everything else. Jughead’s mind is too tired to properly hold onto anything for long.

Fangs puts the truck into park and climbs out so he can help Toni heave Jughead onto the back seat. It’s a slow, painstaking process and Jughead feels more panicky the longer it takes, half-afraid that Sweet Pea is going to lose his patience and step in, but in the end, Sweet Pea doesn’t. Just huffs out an irritated breath and climbs into the passenger seat, where he leans back his head and closes his eyes, ignoring the three of them entirely. Jughead is a trembling mess when they finally manage, breathing too harshly and a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead. He just sits there and lets Toni strap him in once she’s climbed onto the seat next to him, ignoring the worry in her eyes and the way her forehead wrinkles up unhappily when she looks at him. Jughead’s whole body thrums with a dull ache and his vision keeps blurring precariously, so he opts to let his eyes slip shut and does his best to keep his mind as blank as he can.

“You’re fucking lucky this is my mom’s day off, or we’d all be crowded onto a set of bikes right now. And I’m pretty sure at least one of us would fall off and get themselves killed on the way home.” Jughead can hear Fangs mutter irritably before the idling engine revs up again and the truck starts to move.

He tries to stay awake, he really does, but in the end, his fatigue wins out over the electric thrum of fear in his gut and he drifts away, listing to the side until his head comes to rest on something soft, the scent of vanilla and coconut softly lulling him.

~*~*~

Jughead starts awake violently, his pulse racing and his eyes snapping open wide when one of the doors of the truck falls shut with a loud bang. Head spinning and breathing coming too quickly, it takes him a moment to realize that he’s still in the backseat of Fangs’ mom’s truck, Toni sitting next to him and looking at him like he startled her out of some kind of daze as well. Jughead groans and closes his eyes again, head falling back against the seat as he waits for his heartbeat to slow down to something more manageable again, even though he knows he’ll probably have to wait a long fucking time for that to happen, his stomach pulling into a tight ball of ache and tension and the palms of his hands clammy where his fingers dig into his thighs through the fabric of his jeans. They’re back at Sunnyside, Sweet Pea’s trailer looming up ahead on the other side of the windshield, and it’s all Jughead can do to keep himself from slipping off into a blind, useless panic.

The door on his side opens and Jughead looks over to find Fangs standing there, Jughead’s seat belt clicking open and sliding away when Toni unfastens it. Fangs reaches for him and starts to pull him out of the truck with Toni’s careful hands on Jughead’s back, and Jughead doesn’t have enough left in him to fight them, but his limbs lock up anyway, making the whole process a lot more awkward and laborious than it would have to be.

“Fuck, come on. At least try to help a little.” Fangs grouses, grunting when Jughead’s feet finally touch the hard-packed earth beneath him, and he stumbles into Fangs, almost taking both of them down when his knees seem to be the only part of himself refusing to stiffen up and bear his weight.

Ahead of them Sweet Pea unlocks the door to his trailer and climbs inside, the blanket slung over one arm and his free hand clutching at the frame just a little too tightly to be entirely casual. Toni hops out of the truck and slings Jughead’s arm over her shoulder, she and Fangs taking it upon themselves to get Jughead moving again, even though it’s the last fucking thing Jughead wants, even though every painful step makes his lungs burn more harshly, the lump in his throat rising higher, threatening to cut off his air supply completely, and he digs his fingers into Fangs’ and Toni’s shoulders until his knuckles turn white, but they aren’t deterred, if they even notice at all.

Jughead doesn’t want to go back. He wants to go _home_ , he wants to feel his dad pull him into a crushing hug, solid and warm and real and safe, and tell him that everything is going to be alright, that there’s no need to be afraid anymore and to stop fucking crying like a little girl for God’s sake in that deep, coarse, familiar voice of his. But none of that is going to happen, Jughead _knows_ that, even through the haze of fear and exhaustion clouding up his head. Toni and Fangs walk him sideways through the threshold into Sweet Pea’s trailer, the sun on his face being replaced by a soft gloom one shuffling step at a time until shadow is all that’s left.

Jughead tries to protest once he sees where exactly they’re heading with him, but his voice sounds so weak he’s not even sure they hear him. There’s nothing he can do when Fangs and Toni finally lower him down onto Sweet Pea’s bed. Toni bends at the waist until she’s at eye level with him where he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, takes in his labored breathing and his wide eyes and shaking hands, and her mouth twists into a worried line. One of her hands coming up to clasp his shoulder, but pulling back again, when Jughead flinches away from her touch instinctively.

“Fangs and I have to go. We already missed first period, so we need to get to school, if we don’t want to get into trouble.” She says, her words soft but firm as she holds Jughead’s gaze. “You need to _rest_. Both of you. You had one hell of a night, more than that. You’ll feel better once you get some sleep, alright? We’ll be back later, after school.”

Jughead wants to say something, to beg her not to leave, but the words get stuck in his throat and he can’t get them out. And then it’s too late, Toni’s back already turned as she makes to leave. At the door, she throws one last glance over her shoulder, though not at Jughead. Her eyes are trained on Sweet Pea, standing stiffly across from her, an expression on her face too complicated for Jughead to decipher in the state that he’s in, and then she’s gone, out the door and into the light of the new day.

Fangs walks over to Sweet Pea, clasps a hand over his shoulder and leans in to bump their foreheads together lightly, mumbling “Take care, man.” under his breath before he, too, turns to leave, the door falling shut behind him and drenching Sweet Pea and Jughead in shadow.

Sweet Pea looks up and his eyes meet Jughead’s for the first time since Jughead come to in the fucking morgue, for the first time since – Jughead’s mind blanks out, the dizzying, hopeless swirl of panic taking over as Sweet Pea’s dark gaze bores into his. He scrambles backward on the bed weakly, clumsily, when Sweet Pea pushes away from the wall and starts to walk towards him, movements stiff and ungainly, the scowl on his face deepening into something angry and unpleasant. Sweet Pea mutters something under his breath, but Jughead doesn’t catch the words over the rushing of his blood in his ears.

His back hits the wall, effectively cutting off his retreat at the same time as Sweet Pea reaches the edge of the bed, and Jughead expects him to climb onto the mattress with him, memories before replaying themselves in his head like an awful, swirling picture show of horrors on a grainy screen. Jughead flinches and gasps when Sweet Pea reaches out, his fingers wrapping around Jughead’s ankle, and pulls the boot off of Jughead’s foot with hands that are strong and unrelenting, but at the same time, almost disconcertingly gentle. Then the other boot follows and Jughead jerks his legs back, tucking them under himself and pressing his back as tightly against the wall behind him as he can as soon as Sweet Pea lets go of him.

But instead of following, Sweet Pea reaches for one of the pillows on the bed and drops it onto the floor near the wall, his mouth pulled into a severe, unhappy line and his eyes sliding away from Jughead all together. “Just – fucking _sleep_.” Sweet Pea growls at him, before turning his back to Jughead and sinking down onto the ratty old carpet, curling up in front of the bed stiffly, facing away from Jughead as he tucks the pillow under his head morosely.

It takes Jughead’s frantic mind a moment to catch up with what just happened. He’s – Sweet Pea isn’t – Jughead closes his eyes and tilts his head back and just tries to breathe, breathe, breathe. He can feel tears sting at the corners, but they don’t spill over. He just sits there with his eyes closed, so sure that he’ll never be able to fucking fall asleep, not with all of that panic and desperate, shivery tension trapped in his aching body. But then the relief hits him like a fucking freight train and he doesn’t even have time to think about trying to fight it before he’s gone.

~*~*~

Jughead slowly drifts back to wakefulness to the sound of voices quietly droning on somewhere nearby. He blinks his eyes open groggily to find himself lying on the mattress of Sweet Pea’s bed, his face half buried in a pillow, and tucked into Sweet Pea’s blanket securely, Toni, Fangs, and Sweet Pea are sitting around the trailer’s small dining table with a huge box of pizza open between them as they talk. The quality of the light has changed, duller and dimmer now, late afternoon seeping in through the windows.

Jughead’s feels tired, heavy like a fucking stone and his muscles still ache, but more dully, more subdued now, as if he had a really intense workout yesterday and now he’s paying the price for it. Before he can think too hard about that analogy, though, his stomach rumbles loudly, the scent of the food drifting over to him, and that must have been what woke him, hunger winning out over fatigue. He feels muddled and hazy, but still clearer than before, a faint itch at the center of his chest weaving its way through, and Jughead lifts a heavy hand to absently scratch around the hard shape of the pendant where it rests against his skin. When he looks back up, Sweet Pea’s eyes are on him, Sweet Pea’s expression closed off and dark.

Jughead’s pulse kicks up a notch and he groggily struggles up into a sitting position, but the fear doesn’t quite manage to penetrate the cotton in his limbs, in his head, and it remains an unpleasant tickle at the back of his mind. Toni and Fangs are here, he thinks blearily, which means Sweet Pea isn’t going to touch him, at least for now. Jughead takes a moment to clumsily rub the sleep from his eyes and when he opens them again, Toni is standing by the bed, offering him a slice of pizza on a folded up napkin and a glass of what looks like soda to go along with it, her mouth twisted up into a sad, tired little smile.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jughead’s gaze catches on a lump of gray wool on the mattress next to his pillow and he reaches for it, sluggishly pulling his beanie back onto his sleep-tousled hair, before taking the offered food. Tearing into the slice of pizza like a starving man without thinking twice about it, his stomach all but taking over control and leading his motions. Toni just gives him an odd look, one eyebrow raised at him, and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, watching him inhale his food. He can actually consciously taste the pizza, all of it, and that almost surprises Jughead, but he doesn’t stop to think about it for long, too focused on the process of eating. Once the slice is gone, Jughead drains the sticky-sweet soda, the bubbles pricking at his throat when he drinks too quickly, but he manages not to make himself choke.

“You want another slie?” Toni asks, sounding a little skeptical, though the sentiment is dampened somewhat by the lines of fatigue around her eyes. Jughead just drags the napkin across his mouth and nods, too busy focusing on the feeling of the food settling in his stomach warmly, the dear, familiar comfort of it. Toni blows out a soft laugh and stands to go get him a fresh slice. Jughead can feel both Fangs’ and Sweet Pea’s eyes on him as he works through that one, too, their gaze making his skin prickle, but he’s too preoccupied with his food to really let it set him off.

Toni looks faintly worried by the time she gets up to bring him a third slice, but Jughead really, really doesn’t care. This one, though, he eats more slowly, the worst of the hunger’s bite settled and appeased for now, and he just focuses on how good it tastes as he chews each bite carefully.

“How are you feeling?” Toni asks gently, maybe figuring that he’s finally slowed down enough to make talking in between mouthfuls an actual option. Jughead swallows carefully, taking a moment to actually think about it, doing his best not to let his eyes slip over to where Sweet Pea is sitting at the other end of the trailer, a dark and looming presence at the edge of Jughead’s perception.

“Tired.” Jughead finally manages, the joy of mindlessly digging into his food quickly dampened by his full return to reality. All of a sudden, the weighted greasiness of the pizza sits a little more heavily in his stomach than it had before.

“No more fever or pain or trouble breathing?” Toni prompts, reaching up to gingerly touch the back of her hand to Jughead’s forehead and Jughead freezes at the contact, his muscles seizing up, but before he can think to jerk away, her hand drops again and she leaves him be. Jughead shakes his head ‘no’, realizing that it’s actually true: the fever hasn’t returned and the ache in his muscles has started to fade, dulled down and muted now, like an old bruise. His lungs feel almost normal as he breathes and the only thing out of place is the soft, but insistent itch at the center of his chest where the amulet lies. Aside from that he really is just very tired, still.

“That’s good.” Toni lets a weary little half-smile twist her full lips up on one side, her hands resting in her lap. “We should probably talk.”

Jughead blows out a derisive breath through his nose at that. Yeah, no shit. He lowers the chewed-off crust of his last slice of pizza carefully and makes a point out of sitting up straighter, tensing his spine and pulling back his shoulders as he meets Toni’s eyes, his mind scrambling to clear enough for him to get through this.

“I think it’s pretty obvious that things can’t go on the way they have been, not entirely at least. We’ve been thinking.” Toni says, her eyes darting over to Sweet Pea and Fangs for a moment, before coming to rest on Jughead again. “You can’t go back home. You need to stay here with Sweet Pea, now just as much as before. But… tomorrow’s Friday, which means Sweet Pea’s suspension is over and it might be a good idea for the both of you to try and get a little normalcy back into your lives.”

Jughead can feel his eyes widen at that, his pulse kicking up at the prospect of getting out of this trailer, back into the real world, back to a fraction of his fucking life, even if just for a couple of hours, for half a day, and he opens his mouth, pulls in a breath, but Toni cuts him off before he can say anything.

“There are conditions, though.” She adds, both her voice and her expression growing stern. “You have to keep your bite mark covered, _no-one_ can see it. We get our story straight beforehand, go through exactly what you’ll say if anyone asks where you were or what’s been going on. You avoid your friends as much as you can, keep things simple and short. And there’s going to be one of the three of us with you at all times. And _none_ of that is negotiable. Do you understand? If you agree, then tomorrow is going to be a test run. And if it goes smoothly, you can go back on Monday.”

Jughead nods his agreement jerkily, even before he’s had a chance to fully digest her words, because he’d be fucking stupid not to. A way out, anything at all, regardless of how potentially short-lived, is more than he’d dared hope for, and he has to make a conscious effort to breathe around the surge of jumbled emotion climbing up into his throat. And, for the first time, he gets an inkling of realization of what last night, that entire fucking ordeal, might have actually done for him. It’s given him leverage he hadn’t had before. A tiny spark of power. So maybe almost fucking _dying_ actually has its perks. The thought makes him feel dizzy and lightheaded all over again.

“Yeah, alright. But I’ve got some conditions, too.” Jughead says, his lips pulled tight and his gaze locking onto Toni’s eyes, boring into her. Because now that he knows, he can’t _not_ push. Can’t not try to milk this for whatever the hell it’s worth, for as much as he can get away with. Even as he sees Toni’s expression morph into a frown, and the fear that he might be risking too much seeps into the mix insistently. “I want my phone back.” Jughead presses out and watches Toni’s eyes narrow and her fingers grow restless in her lap as she chews on her lip, thinking it over.

Finally, she sighs and reaches into an inner pocket of her leather jacket, pulling out his cell, but holding it out of reach for a moment longer when he tries to take it from her. “I don’t have to remind you of what’ll happen if you try anything stupid, do I?” She asks, making sure to look him straight in the eye to drive home the implications of her words.

“No, you don’t.” Jughead bites out. She sighs again, then, and reluctantly reaches out and hands it over. The slightly warm plastic feels achingly familiar in Jughead’s grip and he clutches it tightly as he pulls his hand back, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest.

“And I want to see my dad.” He blurts out, unable to stop himself, his gums itching with the possibility, his chest aching sharply as he speaks, as hope spikes without warning. Harsh enough to make it hard to breathe for a second. Ready to dig his heels in as much as he needs to.

“Don’t fucking push it.” Sweet Pea growls from his seat across the small room and Jughead’s fingers tighten on his phone until he can feel the plastic edges dig into his hand almost painfully. But he keeps his eyes trained on Toni, refusing to let himself be goaded into looking at Sweet Pea, and he can tell Toni is chewing his words over, the frown on her face deepening into a scowl as she thinks it through.

“Fine. But not alone and not tomorrow.” She finally concedes, and Jughead can hear Sweet Pea blow out an angry breath, but he ignores it as best he can, too busy trying to grasp the full weight of his unexpected victory. “See it as a bonus, if school goes well tomorrow and you manage to stick to the rules. If not, it’s off the table. Got it?”

Jughead presses his lips together and nods jerkily as he sits there and waits for the reality of it to settle in completely. They’re going to let him go back to school, _tomorrow_. They’re going to let him see his _dad_. After everything, the feeling of that is enough to make his head swim violently and he has to clench his teeth painfully tight against the way his eyes start to burn.

“Good.” Toni says, a little more softly again, deflating somewhat as she blows out a slow breath, the weariness in her posture growing more pronounced. “We’re going to take this one day at a time. But you need to help us make it work. It’s completely up to you how it goes.”

Jughead pulls in a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, to calm the chaotic rush of his blood as it bubbles through his veins. “Yeah.” He says quietly, his tongue darting out to wet dry lips. He’ll be damned if he lets them take this away from him again. He’ll do whatever the hell he has to in order to hold onto that small promise of that tiny fragment of freedom. He can do that. He can be good if he has to. Because this, whatever they choose to give him, is all he fucking has right now.

“Alright.” With a quiet groan, Toni gets back onto her feet, her hair shuddering in soft little waves as she shakes off whatever lingering emotion she doesn’t want. “Fangs and I are going to head out now. We really need to get some sleep. And you should probably rest some more, too. We’ll see you before school tomorrow.”

With that, she walks over to Fangs and pats him on the shoulder before turning and heading out of the trailer. Jughead can see Sweet Pea’s eyes following her as she goes, his unhappy scowl still firmly in place. Under the table, Fangs kicks lightly at Sweet Pea’s ankle, drawing his attention away from her. “Give her some time, man. Been a hard fucking day for all of us. She’ll come back around, you know her.” He mumbles quietly, before reaching up to rub at his eyes tiredly. “I’m out, too.” Fangs adds, his fingers wrapping around Sweet Pea’s wrist, resting on the small bit of tabletop not occupied by the open pizza box, and squeezing lightly before heaving himself out of his chair and following Toni’s trail out into the late evening. The door falls softly shut behind him.

And just like that, Jughead is left alone with Sweet Pea again, the last bit of greasy pizza crust all but forgotten where it’s wrapped in the balled-up napkin in his hand. Sweet Pea lets his gaze drift over to Jughead, sitting on his bed with the blanket still draped around his legs, clothes sleep-rumpled but intact, and Jughead can feel the weight of them against his skin firmly, as he still tres to make sense of the shift in his reality he just witnessed. The tension lines on Sweet Pea’s face haven’t smoothed out and he looks almost as tired and tense as he did this morning, as if what sleep he got didn’t do anything for him, all of it translating into irritation and moroseness.

Sweet Pea twists his mouth at an unkind angle and pushes himself up out of his chair heavily, then stalks over to where Jughead is sitting. Jughead shrinks back from him as Sweet Pea’s shadow slowly falls over him. He can’t fucking help it, just as he can’t help the way his breathing speeds p and his muscles seize, freezing him to the spot like a deer in the headlights, trying so hard to hold onto that feeling of knowing what he just got handed back. But all Sweet Pea does is gather up the empty glass and not jerkily napkin in Jughead’s hand.

“You done with that?” Sweet Pea mutters at him sullenly, and it takes Jughead a disorienting moment to get what he means.

“I – yeah.” He manages, and carefully raises his hand until Sweet Pea takes the napkin from his unfurling fingers, then turns around and walks away again to dispose of it, the glass clinking softly as it’s set down in the kitchen sink.

This is – none of this is going the way Jughead is expecting it to, and he’s not sure he knows what to do with that. All he knows is that he feels completely unsettled by it, taken off guard by the whole of it. If he’s being given some sort of break, though, however short-lived it might end up being, he needs to make of it whatever he can.

“I’m going to take a shower.” Jughead forces himself to say, as soon as he’s made up his mind about it, doing his best not to lose his fucking nerve as he slowly makes his way off of the bed, limbs still heavy with fatigue and muted ache. Sweet Pea’s back tenses and Jughead freezes for a moment, holding his breath, but then Sweet Pea catches himself and all he does is reach out to turn on the tap over the sink before going to get the other empty glasses from the table.

Moving as quickly as he can make himself, Jughead gathers a fresh set of clothes from the dresser and flees into the bathroom, making sure to lock the door behind him firmly, his heart pounding harshly against the inside of his ribs. He really does need a fucking shower. The smell of disinfectant still clings to his skin and there’s old sweat making it feel sticky and unpleasant, weighing down his hair beneath his beanie, making him feel kind of disgusting. Like he’s somehow still got the taint of the morgue on him. Peeling the gauze away from his nape hurts, the tape sticking to his hair, but he grinds his teeth and manages. The skin around the bite feels tender, but Jughead doesn’t bother looking in the mirror to check it.

Once he’s climbed into the stall and turned on the spray, the first rush of hot water feels so fucking good that it’s almost enough to make him forget where he is for a second. Almost. The amulet is the only thing he leaves firmly in place all the while.

It really does make a difference, showered and in a fresh set of clothes, his teeth brushed and his wet hair tucked away beneath his beanie, and it’s so strange how he can’t feel the wrongness twist and move around inside of him at all anymore. Almost like there’s a part of himself missing, in a weird, sick sort of way. All there is is the thin black lines spanning out from the amulet and he can barely sense those, even when he’s focusing on them. He wonders with a shaky sigh how long it’s going to stay that way, though.

Reaching for the handle of the door calls forth a horrible sense of déja vu, a wave of memory that makes his breathing stutter and his hands grow clammy with cold sweat as he squeezes his eyes shut and desperately tries to fight it off. He quietly wonders if leaving the fucking bathroom is going to be a God-damn ordeal every time he does it from now on. He figures waiting and drawing it out is only going to make it worse, though, so he grabs the handle with unsteady fingers and pulls the door open in one jerky motion, then steps out into the gloomy trailer before he has a chance to think twice about it.

Sweet Pea looks up at him from where he’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, changed into a soft-looking gray t-shirt and a baggy pair of sweats. And – that’s where Jughead’s plan of action stutters to an unpleasant halt, because he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to do now.

Sweet Pea frowns at him, something deeply unhappy in his dark, dark eyes, and when he moves to get up off of the bed and to his feet, images from the last night Jughead remembers clearly over-layer his vision in a horrible flash of dizziness and nausea and his entire body freezes up where he’s standing with his back pressed against the bathroom door. He’s not – he can’t – what if this is part of the deal Toni was talking about? The thought plops into Jughead’s head out of no where, harsh and cruel. And he _knows_ that it’s not, that that doesn’t make sense, but for some reason his mind still latches onto it, the invisible steel bands around his rib cage pulling tight until he thinks he can hear his bones creak with the pressure, his lungs burning and his heart fluttering wildly.

‘Be docile, be sweet’, that horrible little voice at the back of his head croons at him and Jughead wants to shut it up so fucking badly it hurts. He wants to move, to do _something_ , his fingers clutching his phone case tightly, but he can’t. His muscles refuse to cooperate, to function, regardless of how desperately he wills them to and all he can do is stand there and stare wide-eyed and afraid at Sweet Pea as he approaches. The suffocating weight of trepidation grows with each careful step Sweet Pea takes towards him. Sweet Pea stops right in front of him, the crease between his brows deepening as his frown turns into a scowl, lips pulling back to show flashes of sharp, white teeth, anger glowing bright behind his irises.

“You’re blocking the door.” Sweet Pea bites out and Jughead flinches badly when Sweet Pea shoves at his shoulder, his hand big and warm and strong, until Jughead stumbles out of the way. Sweet Pea’s got the bathroom door pulled open, disappearing inside and shutting it after him, before Jughead’s even had the time to really register what the hell just happened.

He just stands there like an idiot, staring at the closed door, breathing too quickly and his pulse rushing loudly through his ears. The strength suddenly draining out of him, making him feel dizzy and weak in the knees, Jughead stumbles over to the wall opposite the bathroom and sinks down along it, next to the bed. Thumping down onto his ass a little more harshly than he’d planned, Jughead pulls his knees up to his chest, leans forward until he can rest his forehead against them, and brings his arms up to cover his head. Making himself as small as he can as he tries to fight back the tears, shaking a little with the left-over adrenaline, the unexpected aimlessness of it. His cellphone, the one tangible victory of today, cradled in his hand like a fucking treasure, like some sort of lifeline.

Jughead doesn’t know what to make of any of it, doesn’t know if this means that Sweet Pea isn’t going to touch him at all tonight, or if it’s just another way to draw out his fucking suffering, which seems much more likely. Putting off the inevitable for another handful of moments that he’ll spend dreading it. He’s just so fucking tired, tired enough to almost feel like this is even worse than if Sweet Pea would just fucking get it over with so that Jughead knows he’ll be safe at least for a little while afterwards.

He sits there waiting, dreading, for he doesn’t even really know how long. All he does know is that Sweet Pea is taking his fucking time and that his eyes and limbs are growing heavier with every passing moment, the bit of energy he’ d managed to muster while he slept dwindling down into nothing. And somewhere in the midst of the swirling mess of fear and tension in his gut, he kind of just – drifts off without noticing. One moment he’s half-awake and trapped in the horrible, aching strain of it, the next he’s not, having exhausted himself beyond the capacity of his both body and mind. Darkness wrapping around him like a cloak, but not writhing and suffocating as it had been. Instead, it’s the kinder, gentler version of it that Jughead used to know before all this started.

It’s almost too easy to just let go and let himself be carried away into numbness and peace for however long it may last.

He dreams nothing in particular, dreams of a vast and quiet cool, black ocean, first being gently submerged in it, then floating and weightless. Followed by softness and an easy kind of warmth. He doesn’t try to fight any of it.

~*~*~


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for having taken this long to update, but here we are at last. Almost 27k of a chapter for your reading pleasure. I hope that makes up for it at least a little. RL has been pretty crazy lately, which has not allowed me as much time for writing as I would have liked. But things have quieted down a bit now and I really hope that the next chapter won't take me quite as long. Not to mention that I'm really looking forward to writing the next part! This is where it really gets exciting!
> 
> Sadly, this chapter is unbetad, because of time issues, so all remaining mistakes are mine. I might have it betad after the fact and go back to edit out some of my mistakes later, if I can manage, but I'll let you know if I do. 
> 
> Now, enough from me and I hope you enjoy! <3

~*~*~

“C’mon, wake up.”

Jughead snaps back to consciousness with someone’s hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly, and he feels groggy and disoriented for a second, before everything comes rushing back in quickly and harshly enough to make him feel a little nauseous, and his first instinct is to scramble away form the touch. But he gets tangled in the blanket he’s wrapped up in in the process, his heart racing wildly as he struggles against it, and it’s only then that he realizes that he’s lying in Sweet Pea’s bed instead of sitting on the ground next to it where he remembers having drifted off last night.

Sweet Pea’s hand drops away from Jughead’s shoulder as soon as Jughead starts to move and Jughead glances up at him, confusion pulling at his features and clouding up his sleep-addled mind, but at least it’s enough to stop his futile struggles against the bedding. It’s gloomy in the small trailer, darkness still thick and heavy outside and the only source of light, the small bedside lamp on top of Sweet Pea’s dresser, is just enough to deepen the shadows around it and Jughead can’t make out Sweet Pea’s expression. All he can tell is that Sweet Pea is standing in front of the bed, fully dressed, his arms coming up to cross over his broad chest as he straightens up.

“You need to get ready for school.” Sweet Pea presses out, his voice rough and a little strained and, oh. Fuck. School. That’s right, Jughead’s actually doing that today. He’s getting out of here, into the real world for the first time in what feels like for fucking ever. Allowed to step back into a life he’s not even sure he fully remembers anymore. Not sure how this new version of himself will fit into it. But that doesn’t matter right now, getting _out_ is all that does. Even, if it’s for a finite amount of time.

Suddenly more than eager to get moving, Jughead sits up and pulls at the blanket until he can free himself of it. Sweet Pea takes a step back and turns towards the kitchen area when Jughead swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, socked feet finding the rough old carpet easily. His clothes are still intact, all of them. Rumpled form sleeping in them, but other than that exactly the way they were when he all but passed out from exhaustion last night. And that’s – that’s a fucking relief.

The only thing that’s missing is his beanie. Jughead hurriedly scans the bed until he finds it half hidden underneath one of the pillows and he’s quick to pull it back over his disheveled hair. It must have fallen off some time during the night. Right next to where the beanie had been, Jughead catches the dull glint of his phone’s casing, barely discernible against the dark gray sheets in the low light. But as soon as he sees it, he snatches it up and shoves it into the right front pockets of his jeans, not about to let it out of his fucking sight again. He vaguely remembers falling asleep with it clutched in his hand. When Jughead gets ready to get up, though, his gaze catches on a pillow on the floor next to the headboard of the bed and his forehead and nose scrunch up in puzzlement, giving him a second’s pause.

What – did Sweet Pea sleep on the floor _again_? The thought makes him feel so, so much better, but it also… is Sweet Pea trying to give him fucking space? Jughead glances over to Sweet Pea’s back where he’s busy putting together breakfast, from the looks of it, and he darts out his tongue to wet dry lips, lost in his head. That’s – Jughead will take whatever form reprieve he can get, but he’s also not quite sure what to fucking do with it. He doesn’t want to trust this precarious bit of respite he’s being granted, because as much as he doesn’t want to think about it, he knows that it won’t last, that it _can’t._

And he has no idea how to get a handle on Sweet Pea, how to be able to read him or predict when he’s going to get tired of it and – and want to _touch_ Jughead again. Because Sweet Pea is going to. Jughead’s not fucking stupid. After yesterday… he’s not getting out of this any time soon, or at all, if Dr. Curdle’s assessment is to be trusted – even if a tiny little part of him still refuses to give up hope. In the meantime, though, he fucking needs to find a way to survive in the midst of this hell, but he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to do that if the damn rules keep changing.

Maybe the only chance he’s got is taking this one damn step at a time and being grateful he’s survived this much, regardless of how much he hates the uncertainty of it, Jughead thinks and does his best to not let the fresh wave of despair pull him under. He needs to concentrate on the wins, however small or short-lived they might be, and hold onto them as stubbornly as he fucking can. He needs to stay sharp and not lose hope or he’s already as good as dead. And despite everything, despite how horrible things are right now, he doesn’t actually _want_ to fucking die, if he can help it.

He heaves himself up onto his feet with a quiet groan, moving more strenuous than he remembers, like his entire body his heavier than it should be, a dull ache sitting in his joints and muscles, and he still feels tired as hell, even though he slept through most of yesterday and last night. ‘Guess that’s what you get for almost dying’, a cynical little part of him thinks and Jughead grits his teeth against the bitterness at the back of his throat and keeps going as best he can.

He slips into the bathroom while Sweet Pea’s still got his back turned, in the process of setting the table, and pulls the door shut behind him carefully before engaging the lock. The false sense of safety it offers not doing a lot to make him feel better, but it’s still more than _nothing_.

The skin on Jughead’s chest feels weirdly itchy and a little warm and he turns to face the mirror, then grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it up so that he can take a closer look at what’s going on. The pendant is still sitting right at the center, over his heart, and it kind of looks like it didn’t shift at all, even during the night when he was sleeping. Jughead furrows his brows, reaches for the brown leather cord it’s attache to and tries to pull it away from his chest. It works, but only reluctantly. There’s definitely some resistance there and as soon as he lets it go, it snaps right back to where it was before.

God, that’s fucking strange, Jughead thinks, but after everything he’s seen, everything he’s learned and been through this past week, it shouldn’t even really surprise him anymore. Maybe he can ask Toni about it later or something. He swallows and lets his fingers wander to the skin surrounding the pendant, reddened and irritated and itchy the way it had been yesterday, but the circle it forms around the pendant seems to have gotten a little bigger. His body is definitely reacting to it in some unpleasant way.

But, yeah. Dr. Curdle’d kind of said as much, or at least that the pendant wouldn’t be a permanent solution, that it’s only buying him a bit of time and nothing else. Jughead swallows thickly as he lets the tips of his fingers wander outward across his chest to trace one of the black lines snaking across it, outward from where the pendant rests. He can’t help but think that they look like they’ve spread a little wider, gotten a little thicker, more prominent, since he got a glimpse of them yesterday.

A neat visual representation of the way that his time is slowly running out.

The skin underneath his fingers is warmer than it should be.

With a sigh and a shudder, Jughead pulls his hand away and lets his t-shirt fall back into place. The face staring back at him from the mirror is pale and worn, dark circles under his eyes making him look like he didn’t sleep for week or something. The bruise on the side of his throat is fading, at least, nothing more than a pale yellow-greenish splotch against his skin now, but when he cranes his neck a little to get a glimpse at the bite on his nape he catches angry red skin and the edges of scabbed over teeth marks healing badly. No real progress with that, it seems. There’s a dull throb and burn radiating outwards from it and Jughead hisses in a breath, when he makes the mistake of touching it.

Right.

Which fucking reminds him that he needs to cover it up before he can leave the trailer or they won’t let him. They’ve made _that_ more than clear. He remembers the small jar of salve that Dr. Curdle had handed Toni yesterday before they’d left and Jughead furrows his brows and chews on his lip as he starts to pull open the doors to the tiny medicine cabinet above the sink, not sure where Sweet Pea stashed it. Not to mention that he’ll need gauze and adhesive tape strip, too. He doubts a regular band-aid is going to be enough to cover all of the fucking bite. He has to work hard to keep his mind on the task and the nausea settling into his gut from overwhelming him.

It seems like Jughead’s in luck because it looks like Sweet Pea recently stocked up on medical supplies… There’s a big, unopened pack of gauze squares right there on one of the small shelves and a roll of adhesive tape resting on top of it. And the small white jar is sitting right next to a bottle of antiseptic spray. Fucking perfect, Jughead thinks, an irrational burst of anger and frustration making his movements jerky and harsh as he reaches for the antiseptic. Getting ready to take care of the mark meant to broadcast to the entire world that he no longer belongs to himself.

Both disinfecting the wound and applying the ointment stings more harshly than he’d expected and the pain seems to reach deeper than it should, too, making Jughead suck in a hissing breath through his teeth. The ache of it radiates inward and wraps around his cervical vertebra like roots digging through his skin. The feeling makes Jughead’s stomach twist unpleasantly and he pushes down as hard as he can on the memories trying to rise up and swallow him, his breath hitching as he does his best to keep his mind empty. Covering the bite mark up with gauze without actually being able to see what he’s doing is a bit fiddly, but aside from accidentally taping down some of his hair – which he just figures he’ll fucking deal with when he has to remove it later – he makes it work OK.

He makes quick work of brushing his teeth, takes a leak, and then digs through Sweet Pea’s fucking stuff until he’s found a comb, because his hair kind of looks like something tried to build a nest in it last night and not even his beanie is going to be enough to cover up the mess of it. Since he’s not supposed to be drawing attention to himself, he figures it would be a good idea to take care of that. After, once he’s sniffed at his clothes and determines that they’re still tolerable despite having slept in them and that a couple of fucking wrinkles in his shirt aren’t even going to register on anyone’s radar, he drops down onto the closed lid of the toilet and digs his cellphone out of his jeans pocket.

The first thing he fucking does is create a pin to lock it with, so if anyone decides to take it from him again, they at least won’t be able to get in that easily any more. Hell, if he’ll make shit fucking convenient for them. Then he goes through his messages, because he only got a glimpse at them, when Toni gave him his cell to call his dad. And, God, if nothing goes wrong at school today they’ll actually let him see his dad. Jughead swallows harshly around the lump climbing up into his throat and bites down on his lip, using the sting of it to distract him from the harsh ache in his chest.

Predictably, he didn’t get a ton of messages during the week he was... away from his phone. The only people, who actually bothered to check in on him are Archie and Betty, and Archie only once last Friday, after Jughead had left school early because he wasn’t feeling well. Just thinking about that feels so alien, almost like he’s remembering someone else’s life, the memories of a person he no longer is. But that’s not what he’s thinking about right now, he reminds himself sternly.

Apparently Toni’s short little answer in Jughead’s name to let Archie know he was down with the fucking flue had been enough to satisfy Archie, because he hadn’t tried again. Betty had been a lot more tenacious in her reaching out to him, not as much as she would have, had they still been together, but enough to let him know that she’d been worried and thinking of him. Something in the way her messages are worded, especially the later ones, makes Jughead wonder, if she noticed that something was off with Toni’s answers. Not quite his usual way of writing to her, even though Toni really did try to emulate his style, apparently. There’s a handful of missed calls from her, too.

It sets off a whirl of complicated emotion and bone-deep ache in Jughead’s chest and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite this distinctly how fucking _much_ he misses Betty. Her sweet smile and soft touch, the tenderness in her eyes when she looks at him, her sharp wit and the fucking steel in her bones, the way she could seems so fragile when she’s anything but. He’d felt seen with her, always had, one of the few people who actually took the time to really work their way past all of those emotional walls he’d built up around himself over the years, and at the same time never once judging him for what she found there.

Tears sting in his eyes and Jughead wipes at them angrily, his motions jerky as he tries to pull himself together. He really needs to get a fucking grip, if he’s going to make it through today without incident, and he needs this to work so, so much. He needs to be able, to be fucking _allowed_ , to go back on Monday and all of the days following because it’s his only way of getting out of Sweet Pea’s trailer, out of this personal little hell of his, even for just a bit, and he won’t let them take that away from him again. He _can’t_.

The harsh knock on the bathroom door startles Jughead so badly he drops his phone and it clatters across the linoleum loudly. He scrambles to pick it up, his heart racing frantically as he checks its state, but it’s still whole. Good thing those old cellphones are so fucking hard to kill, he thinks bitterly.

“You need to hurry up, if you want to eat before we leave.” Sweet Pea’s voice drifts through the door, muted and dull, but Jughead can still hear plenty well how morose he sounds. Fucking great.

Jughead takes a deep breath to calm himself down and then gets up and unlocks the door before he steps back out into the trailer.

Sweet Pea’s switched on the overhead lights while Jughead was in the bathroom and when he makes himself walk over to the table Sweet Pea’s set for breakfast, where Sweet Pea has already taken a seat and is digging into his sandwich, Jughead gets a good look at Sweet Pea for the first time since yesterday evening. He looks… off, to say the least, and it makes Jughead’s step falter a little, throws him off more than he would have thought.

Sweet Pea looks almost as bad as Jughead does, pale with dark circles like bruises under his eyes and lines of tension pulling at his features unpleasantly, as if he’s in pain but trying hard to hide it. And now that Jughead’s really paying attention, he can see that Sweet Pea’s movements are a little more deliberate, a little more stiff, than the smooth, powerful motions Jughead has been trapped at the mercy of for the past week.

And there’s still that thin, brown leather cord snaking around the back of Sweet Pea’s neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his t-shirt, same as it was yesterday, ever since Jughead woke up at the fucking morgue. Not for the first time Jughead wonders about it, curiosity an itchy sensation right beneath his skin, a hard-to-kill part of his old self breaking through, and it’s almost a relief to find that it’s still there. Maybe he can ask Toni about that later, too. She’s the most likely one to give him an actual answer, if he does, he thinks.

Jughead darts his tongue out to wet dry lips nervously, his heart fluttering around in his chest as he carefully steps closer to the table and takes a seat as far away from Sweet Pea as he can get in the cramped space, his eyes glued to Sweet Pea to make sure he doesn’t miss a single shift or movement all the while. This is important, Jughead is so fucking close to stepping out of this fucking trailer, he doesn’t want to jeopardize that, if he can help it at all. His pulse is racing just at the thought.

There’s a sandwich and some juice set up for him and Jughead hurries to make quick work of both, though he never quite takes his eyes off of Sweet Pea while he does so. It’s horribly tense and Jughead flinches, once, when Sweet Pea reaches for his fucking juice in a sudden move, so tense and on edge he’s giving himself a fucking headache. But Sweet Pea just glares at him before going back to his food and ignoring Jughead, and Jughead breathes a shaky sigh before taking another bite of his sandwich.

All Jughead really wants is to get away, but he has to eat, or he won’t be able to function, he knows that. So he forces himself to, as quickly as he can without making himself sick, and then pushes up out of his seat and flees to the other end of the trailer, where it feels like he can breathe a little more easily at least. Sweet Pea doesn’t try to stop him. With a shaky sigh Jughead sits on the edge of Sweet Pea’s bed and slips into his boots, tying them carefully. He still feels stiff and his muscles ache dully when he moves, but he makes it work.

Once he’s done, he reaches for his his school bag, still sitting against the wall between the bed and the door to the bathroom where he left it, and goes through it with unsteady fingers. Everything he remembers being there before still is. His laptop and his pencil case, his headphones, his writing pads with his notes from class. The empty wrappers of the snack foods he’d had at the library before Sweet Pea had found him there. Jughead swallows thickly and shudders at the memory of the huge black wolf looming over him, yellowed teeth bared in a snarl and dagger-sharp claws clicking against the floorboards.

Even now that he’s witnessed the change first-hand, it’s still kind of hard to see that monster as Sweet Pea. Although, Jughead guesses with a bitter taste rising at the back of his throat, being a fucking monster is something that isn’t really tied to the shape you come in, but rather to the actions you take. There are plenty of monsters that come in human form entirely. Chest aching and eyes stinging harshly, Jughead pulls in an unsteady breath and stuffs the empty wrappers back into his bag, buries them as deep as he can. The ache in his body grows stronger, and he has to grind his teeth against the groan trying to climb up his throat.

He’s such a fucking mess.

When Sweet Pea is finally done with his breakfast, he places the dishes into the sink, then slips into his boots and pulls a blue flannel shirt over his t-shirt in lieu of a jacket. Which kind of makes a hysterical little part of Jughead wonder, if Sweet Pea even owns a jacket other than his Serpent leathers. God, he really needs to get a fucking grip. Also, that kind of reminds him that Jughead still has no fucking clue where his own jacket is, where Sweet Pea stashed it away after they took him here.

Remembering where Sweet Pea’d hidden his school bag, Jughead furrows his browns and sinks down onto his knees in front of the bed, then bends low until he can glance beneath it. But all he can make out are a lot of dust bunnies and a big, lumpy plastic garbage bag that looks like it might contain a set of extra blankets or something.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sweet Pea’s voice sounds from somewhere above Jughead, somewhere _close_ , and Jughead flinches at the sound of it, tries to get up too quickly and knocks the back of his head against the bed frame harshly. His beanie softens the blow a little, but it still hurts a good deal.

Jughead mutters a string of curses under his breath and brings his hands up to cover his head, eyes screwing shut as he waits for the ache to dull back down to bearable. His heart is racing so badly he can taste it on the back of his tongue.

A big warm hand closes over one of Jughead’s wrists, pulling his palm away from his beanie deceptively gently and Jughead’s eyes fly open only to find Sweet Pea _right there_. Frowning in what looks like a mix of annoyance and bewilderment as he glances at Jughead’s head, where his other palm is still covering the lump forming slowly beneath the wool of his beanie. Jughead freezes, the hand attached to the wrist Sweet Pea is circling balling into a tightly clenched fist, tension ratcheting up in his body until it feels like he can barely breathe anymore and his mind shuts down, blanking out like a white an empty page in his one of his word docs.

“My jacket.” Jughead manages to make himself say, presses the words out through clenched teeth, eyes so wide it’s almost painful as he stares up at Sweet Pea. He can feel the warmth of Sweet Pea’s palm seep into his wrist slowly and the sensation is so treacherous, trying to lure him in with a false sense of comfort that only makes the way his skin is crawling with the need to get away so much harder to bear. But at the same time he knows that trying to fight Sweet Pea will only make him angry, will only make it worse, and risk that tiny bit of freedom he’s so fucking close to right now, and Jughead couldn’t take that. So he forces himself to hold still and wait Sweet Pea out, no matter how much he fucking hates it.

Sweet Pea huffs out an annoyed breath, something flickering through his eyes that almost looks like hurt, _so_ much of it that it startles Jughead, knocks the breath right out of him, but it’s quickly covered up by frustration and those still faint but undeniable sparks of anger that Jughead’s learned to fear. There’s something different about Sweet Pea’s eyes, though, Jughead can’t help but notice, even in the state of almost terror he’s caught in. They seem clearer somehow, more lucid than Jughead remembers. More Sweet Pea and less the awful swirling mess of heat and want and clouded anger from before.

“Toni’s got your jacket.” Sweet Pea grouses before letting go of Jughead’s wrist and getting to his feet with a grunt. “They’re probably waiting for us, come on.”

Jughead sits there for a second, dumbfounded and waiting for his heart rate to clamor down to something a bit more manageable again, before hurrying after Sweet Pea. He grabs his bag as he moves and slinging it over his shoulder, then waiting as Sweet Pea opens the door to his trailer and steps out into the dark of the early morning. Steeling himself, Jughead follows him and carefully closes the door after them.

Taking that step seems like such an easy, meaningless thing, when it’s anything but. It feels like walking from an endless nightmare back _out_ into the real world for the first time in what seems like forever. Yeah, he’d been out of the trailer yesterday, but he doesn’t even remember leaving it, only returning to it, which had been nothing short of horrible – and he knows doing it again later will probably be even worse, but still. This is something else entirely and he fucking plans on taking it for all that it’s worth.

Jughead lets himself stand there, close his eyes and take a slow, deep breath. Let’s himself feel the cool air rush into his lungs, just for a second, just to give that almost overwhelming feeling a chance to settle in his chest somewhat before he starts to move again. His world suddenly expanding so much further than he’d thought it still could, and he’s a little dizzy with the heady rush of it as the whole of this beautiful, horrible little town unfurls around him before his mind’s eye. Still there, still solid and real, even though he’d almost forgotten how it feels to hold that knowledge secure in his chest.

When he opens his eyes again, Jughead can see that Fangs and Toni are already there, leaning against their bikes in the early morning gloom, forming a loose semi-circle around Sweet Pea’s parked bike. And, yeah. Toni really does have his fucking jacket. She holds it out to him, when she realizes that he’s looking at her, and Jughead walks over to her slowly and takes it, the tips of his fingers brushing the back of her hand accidentally as he does so and for a painful little moment the warmth he feels there makes his chest ache so badly it’s a little hard to breathe.

But he pulls away again quickly, clutching his jacket tightly and all Toni does is give him a sad, tired little smile, before her steely exterior settles back into place. Jughead swallows around the lump in his throat and moves to shrug into the worn Sherpa, when he notices a handful of small lumps in the fabric near his left shoulder and he halts his movements so that he can bring the jacket closer to his face instead and examine it. There are stitches, the same light, denim-blue as the jacket itself as far as he can tell in the low light. They cover a number of holes in a rough crescent shape, the two at the outer edges the largest and it takes Jughead a confused second to realize what he’s looking at.

Until he turns the jacket and the shape is repeated on the other side of the shoulder. And then he remembers. The wolf. Sweet Pea’s sharp teeth grazing his skin as they pierce through his jacket and shirt and t-shirt. Three layers of cloth parting under their pressure like it’s nothing. Jughead shudders at the memory, a rush of icy chill chasing down his spine at the remembered dread of that night, that fatal changing point in his life.

Toni must have fixed the jacket for him, he thinks.

With one final glance at her, Jughead shrugs it on, the familiar feel of it a comfort, despite it all. She’s the one ally he has in all of this, he can’t help but think, even if it’s hard to get past the overwhelming bitterness and contempt he still feels towards her for her part in all of this. He needs to take whatever the hell he can get right now.

Next to him, Fangs and Sweet Pea are going through their greeting ritual, foreheads touching and shoulders clasped, that physical display of affection that Jughead still hasn’t quite gotten used to. But Jughead quickly jerks his gaze away when he senses movement in front of him and his eyes lock onto Toni, who’s pushed away from her bike and stepped closer. She’s holding something cradled in her palm, though Jughead can’t make out what it is, not quite. All he can see is a soft, metallic glint and he furrows his brows at her.

“I made you something. Just in case.” She says, her gaze flicking up to his beanie then settling back on his face. She looks serious and somber. “It’s a talisman. Basic magic, but effective. It’s supposed to keep you safe. Everyone gets one of these. Here.”

She glances at his beanie again and motions for him to hand it to her. Jughead hesitates for a moment. He doesn’t want to take it off, some irrational part of him clinging fiercely to the comfort of it and not ready to part with it even for a second, but if they’re using their bikes to get to school, he’ll have to exchange it for a helmet in a second anyway. So he clenches his teeth and, forcefully ignoring the way his stomach sinks disconcertingly, reaches up to pull his beanie off of his head. Then stops with his fingers wrapped tightly around the soft wool, clutching it against his chest, and he can’t, for the life of him, bring himself to hand it to her.

Toni’s eyes darken again, that complicated mix of hurt and regret and fear that snuck in and made a home inside of her while he was in the process of fucking dying, and her mouth pulls into a thin line in response. But her hands are careful and kind when she reaches out and tugs at the worn gray of his beanie just a little, not trying to take it from him, just readjusting it in his grip a little so that she can get to the spot on the toothed hem where he’s fixed his two metal pins, silver and crimson.

The crimson one had been a birthday present from Jellybean, just before her and his mom had left for Toledo. She’d nicked it from a tiny gift shop in the mall in Centerville on one of their rare trips over, when his mom had been trying to get him and Jellybean out of the trailer so his dad could sober up enough to drag himself off of the couch in the living room into the bedroom to sleep off his drink. Window-shopping only, of course, but it had been fun anyway, despite the dark edge of reasoning behind their trip. Seeing Jellybean’s eyes go wide with childlike wonder as they browsed through the record store with all of those old vinyls on display had made something soft and warm settle in Jughead’s chest and he’d made a mental note of which records she lingered on, secretly hoping he’d be able to save up a little from his job at the drive-in and maybe get her one. In the end, he’d never gotten the chance to make good on that plan.

The second one had been a gift from Archie. They’d been nine or ten or something and Mr. A had taken them to the fare in Greendale on the fourth of July weekend and Archie had tried his hand at one of the dart booths but only gotten enough points for a consolation prize by the time Mr. A pulled the plug on his funds. Archie had looked at the pin, frowned, shrugged, and handed it off to Jughead to toss it, already moving on to the next attraction. He’s not sure Archie ever noticed that Jughead’s still fucking wearing it, but that happy, carefree memory means so much to him, he could never make himself get rid of it.

Toni fumbles with the hem of the beanie a bit and when she pulls away again, Jughead can see a third pin settled next to the crimson one. He furrows his brows, eyes narrowing as he holds the beanie closer to his face so that he can make out what it is. It’s a soft, glossy blue-green and he can just so make out the shape. It’s a tiny little snake, curling in on itself, almost like the ‘s’ on the back of his Serpent’s leathers.

Jughead blows out a shuddering breath as he clutches the soft wool tightly, a sharp ache spreading through his chest and making his eyes sting. Jughead glances at Toni carefully and she gives him another one of those sad, soft smiles, then takes a step back to give him some space. Jughead is quick to pull the beanie back over his hair, tugging it all the way down until it covers his ears. In his mind, he can feel the extra weight of that new pin settle, the slightest shift in perception, yet undeniable.

He lets his hands drop to his sides and balls them up until his fingernails dig into his palms, the sting of it grounding him a little. Both Fangs and Sweet Pea are looking at him, when he lets his gaze drift over to them, and he looks away again quickly, feeling raw and too open and he doesn’t want them to see any of that.

He’s still a Serpent. They didn’t take that away from him. It’s a bit of surprise how bright the ache that blooms in his chest at that is. Jughead would have thought that he’d hate the Serpents, that he’d want nothing to do with them after what Sweet Pea, Fangs and Toni did to him, are _still_ doing to him. And a part of him does, unmistakably and with a heated, sharp-edged viciousness that cuts at the inside of his ribs harshly. But. A different, softer and hopelessly desperate part of himself wants to cling to that though with all he’s worth. He’s hurting so badly that even that small kindness is almost too much to stomach.

He takes a deep breath and lets it whoosh out of him, the cool air settling in his lungs and helping him pull himself back together. It’s going to be a long fucking day, but he’s as ready as he’ll get to brave it.

“We still need to get our stories straight.” Toni says, finally breaking the weird silence that’s settled between the four of them. Fangs gives a curt nod and Sweet Pea crosses his arms in front of his chest, then winces and drops them again. “You-” Toni turns towards Jughead “-didn’t feel good on Friday and went home early because of it. Then you came down with a bad cold. Your dad couldn’t take care of you because he had to be at work, so you came over to stay with Sweet Pea. Just in case someone tried the trailer and you weren’t there. Fangs and I helped out a little. You’re still a bit wobbly, but you’re feeling a lot better now. That way we’ve got all of our bases covered. And, if someone asks about the texts I sent in your place, you were feverish so you might not have sounded like your usual self. Good?”

“Yes.” Jughead forces himself to say, his voice rough with the surge of emotion he’s biting back on, and he has to take a moment to clear his throat. Yeah, he doubts he’ll have any trouble at all selling the cold story, Jughead thinks with a twist of heavy sarcasm slithering around in his gut. Never mind the fact that he hasn’t needed anyone to take of him when he got sick since he turned 12. Neither his mom nor his dad could have afforded taking time off of work to do it, so he’d learned to manage on his own.

“Alright. I know we already went over this, but I’m going to repeat it one more time, just to be sure.” Toni goes on, her arms folding over her stomach and her chin pulling up to show that she means business as she continues to address Jughead. “As long as you’re out of Sweet Pea’s trailer, you keep the bite mark covered and you do not go _anywhere_ without at least one of us with you. And I mean that literal. No loopholes, no exceptions. It would also probably be a good idea to keep contact with your Northside friends to a minimum. You’re not exactly on the best of terms with them at the moment, anyway, right?”

Jughead bites his lip and gives a jerky nod. He’s already agreed to all of those terms and it’s not like he has a fucking choice anyway. He’ll have to do exactly what they say, if he wants to have a chance to go back on Monday, if he wants to be able to see his dad tomorrow, regardless of how he feels about it. And it’s true enough, what Toni said about Betty and Archie. Betty and him have been trying at being friends, but things are still tense and awkward after the breakup and while he’s made peace with Archie, Archie’s been so busy with matters of his own lately, that they’ve hardly talked since the schools merged. So, not spending too much time with either of them shouldn’t really be that much of a problem, not matter how Jughead hates the thought of avoiding them on purpose.

And it’s not like Veronica and him have anything much to do with each other outside of both of their connections to Betty and Archie, so avoiding _her_ should be the easiest part. He can do this, he _has_ to, Jughead thinks bitterly and quietly steels himself.

Seemingly satisfied with his response, Toni turns and grabs a helmet from one of the handlebars of her bike and hands it over to Jughead, who takes it from her only to find that it’s actually his. Complete with the tiny little crown he’d scratched onto the front of it on a whim the first time he’d taken it for himself. Jughead sighs and reluctantly pulls off his beanie, stows it away safely in his school bag and then hurries to pull on the helmet as the others move to do the same and climb onto their bikes.

When he’s fastened the straps beneath his chin Jughead looks up to see Toni and Fangs kicking up their stands and starting their bikes and Sweet Pea’s already got his motor running, the low rumble of it drifting through the cool dark around them. He gives Jughead an expectant look and Jughead swallows thickly around the pulse fluttering in his throat, then makes himself walk over to Sweet Pea. Forces his limbs to cooperate as he steps onto the foothold and climbs onto Sweet Pea’s bike with him.

Sweet Pea’s build makes Jughead feel small, even though technically speaking he’s _not_ , but Sweet Pea with his broad back and wide shoulders and a height that towers over Jughead so easily… Jughead _hates_ it, he hates being made to feel helpless and weak, and it’s like that’s all that Sweet Pea has been doing to him ever since they met. Even before things went so fucking horribly wrong. But now especially and Jughead wants anything but being this close to him, even if the contact is purely platonic. He can feel his heart rate escalate and his muscles stiffen with tension until the ache of it radiates out through every part of his body, fingers clammy and unsteady as he grabs onto the bit of seat behind himself to use as a handhold for the ride.

The way the insides of his thighs brush against Sweet Pea’s hips makes his mind fill with static and his body heat up and it takes all he’s got to not give in to the urge to run, to get away, teeth grinding against each other so harshly he can feel the soft thrum of a tension headache start at his temples. The edges of his vision gray out as he absorbs the solidity of Sweet Pea’s body in front of him, Sweet Pea’s warmth seeping into him through the points of contact in a way that makes a part of Jughead recoil violently, and a different, treacherous part of him twist and strain to get closer at the same time. He doesn’t know what to fucking do with that.

But at least it’s not as bad as it was _before_. Now that the amulet is there to protect him from the worst of the mating bond’s magic, the warmth stays warmth instead of rising and morphing into that horrible, stifling, inescapable _heat_. And the pull that he’s feeling, that small part of him that’s trying to push him closer to Sweet Pea instead of away, it’s softer now, a quiet, more manageable ache, and not that flood of emotion that makes him want to forget who he is altogether, do whatever it takes to please Sweet Pea, to have Sweet Pea touch him again.

Jughead’s heartbeat quickens further, until he can feel it vibrate through the tips of his fingers like little, rhythmic shocks of electricity and his breathing is racing along with it and it’s not until little black dots start to dance around in front of his eyes that he realizes he’s spiraling. ‘Shit, shit, shit’, the small rational voice inside of his head chants panicky and fluttering, he can’t lose it now, has to get a fucking grip, or they’ll make him stay here after all. They’ll take this away from him, if he can’t keep himself in check, when they haven’t even fucking left the trailer park yet.

Jughead can feel Sweet Pea’s muscles stiffen and shift, like he’s about to move, and Jughead can’t let that happen. So he does the first thing that pops into his head, the first clear thought out of the spinning mess there, doesn’t give himself time to dwell on it before he acts or he won’t be able to go through with it.

Motions jerky and rushed Jughead uncurls his fingers from their grip on the seat and reaches forward instead, leans in and wraps his arms around Sweet Pea’s middle, presses his chest against Sweet Pea’s back, and clings to him as if his fucking life depends on it. He’s holding on too tightly and he’s fucking shaking and the front of his helmet is digging into Sweet Pea’s shoulder, but Sweet Pea doesn’t stop him. Just freezes for a second, a startled breath rushing out of him, then relaxes again and leans forward a little and revs the engine to warm it up. Jughead can feel the rumbling purr of it thrum through him and he tries to focus on that, lets it settle in his chest and fill up his head until that’s all that there is.

That and the warm, solid body he’s plastered against. That and the fact that for once, he’s the one who made the decision to be close, and that there won’t be anything else coming of it, that this is as far as it’ll go right now. The tiniest bit of power, of control, in the midst of this vast sea of helplessness he’s trapped in.

Sweet Pea sets the bike into motion and lifts his feet off of the ground, following Fangs and Toni off the lot and into the breaking dawn. Throughout the entire drive Jughead keeps his mind empty, too focused on soaking up the world around him and the feel of the body he’s clinging to, the cool wind against the skin of his face and hands, the scent of exhaust and engine grease and worn leather. The amulet against his chest is like a tiny little furnace, radiating heat, but not enough to actually hurt.

~*~*~

Riverdale High looms big and square-cut against the backdrop of a lightening sky and Jughead never would have thought he’d ever be this fucking happy and relieved to see it. Most of his time attending high school, he’d felt ambiguous about it at best. He’d always enjoyed learning, soaking up knowledge and using it to distinguish himself from others, to set the groundwork for a future with more options than either his mom or his dad’d ever had, but he’d hated most of everything else about the place. A good 95% of the student body very much included. Though the continuous abuse and indifference he’d suffered from his peers throughout his life seems pale and insignificant in comparison to what he’s coming back from now, what he’s still stuck firmly and hopelessly in the middle of.

Jughead does his best to push the thought away as soon as it arises and soak up the feeling of being here, the prospect of a few hours of a shred of normalcy, of distance between himself and Sweet Pea.

Once Sweet Pea has parked the bike and killed the engine, Jughead unclenches stiff fingers as he lets go of Sweet Pea, and climbs off with awkward limbs. The ground of the parking lot feels so solid and real underneath the soles of his boots it makes his chest ache and he’s quick to pull of his helmet and put his beanie back on.

Threading into the progression of other students heading for the main entry to the building with Toni, Fangs and Sweet Pea at his sides is so easy it almost seems surreal. But he’s here and this is happening and that’s all that matters. It almost feels like the first time he set foot into Riverdale High, first day of freshman year. Only then, he’d been alone. Betty too busy with nerves and preparations and Archie and him not talking. It’s like looking back on a different life.

First and second period is History with Mr. Quill. Toni’s in that class with him – which works with the rules they set up – but neither Betty nor Archie are, which is just as well, because it makes it easier to avoid them, at least for now.

In the hallway, Sweet Pea reluctantly follows Fangs as they nod and head off into the other direction, Sweet Pea’s face pulled into an unhappy grimace, like it’s fucking hard for him to walk away at all. Jughead stands there for a moment, just watching Sweet Pea’s back move away past rows and rows of lockers, and it’s a little hard to find the right words to describe the way it makes him feel. It’s like it’s not even real, like he’s having the most vivid daydream ever, and a part of him is clenched up and anxious and distrustful of it, just waiting for the dream to go bad and turn into a nightmare at the next inhale, or for him to wake up and find that he’s still in Sweet Pea’s trailer.

But neither of those things happen and Jughead stumbles back into motion when Toni tugs at his elbow and Reggie fucking Mantle walks into him hard enough to make him stumble a couple of steps to the side a second later, and murmurs something about blocking the damn door. At least it’s enough to pull him out of it and get him moving again.

Just as he’s grabbing the books he needs from his locker with Toni at his side, Jughead sees Archie’s unmistakable mop of red hair pop up at the other end of the hall but he thinks he manages to duck into the classroom before Archie sees him. Inside Jughead’s heart skips a beat when Veronica arches a sculpted eyebrow at him from the middle row of seats, but when he gives her a curt nod and moves on to the back row with Toni, she just shrugs and opts to ignore him. Right. He’d somehow managed to completely forget that she’s in this class with him.

Technically speaking, Jughead knows that it’s impossible for him to avoid them all completely, but he’ll still do his best to try and keep contact to a minimum. Both because it’s part of the rules that allow him to be here in the first place, but even more so because he actually fucking cares about them and taking the risk of pulling them into this mess by accident is something he’ll do whatever’s in his power to avoid.

Even if seeing them now makes him ache so bad it hurts with how much he wants to go back to the way things were before high school kicked off. Because he’s pretty sure that’s the point where shit really started to go south for him, that fateful summer before junior year. Setting into motion a series of events growing more and more bizarre and severe as they progressed and now he’s here, bruised and cracked, and werewolves are real, and magic is and everything has gone to fucking hell with him trapped right in the middle of it.

He has a mating bite on the back of his neck that won’t heal and he knows what it’s like to get fucked, to be forced, to have his protests go unheard and his pain and discomfort ignored, knows what it’s like to be held down and have his body betray him, to have that betrayal being used against him. Knows what it feels like to have corrupted magic flood into his veins, his skin, his lungs, until he can’t breathe anymore. What it’s like to be held hostage by a group of people he’d really thought were his friends – the kind that’s so fucking hard to find, especially for someone like him – to be robbed of his freedom, his bodily autonomy.

And at the same time he’s sitting here in Mr. Quill’s classroom that hasn’t changed one bit since the last time he was in it, staring at the back of Veronica’s head and listening to Mr. Quill drone on about the civil war, and that clash of two completely separate realities that seem impossible to reconcile with one another leaves him quietly reeling. He’s sitting completely still, but at the same time there’s a roller coaster of conflicting emotions rushing through his chest at a breakneck speed he can barely keep up with. One moment he’s fine – or as close to _fine_ as he can get right now at least – and the next a sense of vertigo strong enough to make nausea bubble up harshly hits him and it’s all he can do to keep himself from spiraling in the middle of the lesson in front of all of his fellow students.

He tries his best to concentrate on the subject matter, on his notes, the worn and stained schoolbook pages in front of him. Even thinks about starting an argument with Mr. Quill about some stupid, offhanded comment that clearly lacks historical accuracy just to keep his mind occupied, to keep it from wandering, but in the end he keeps his mouth shut. Remembering just in time that he’s not supposed to draw attention to himself if he can help it at all. Toni’s presence next to him is impossible to ignore, her eyes a heavy weight as they rest on him, and the weirdest thing about that is, that the tiniest part of him is almost tempted to feel comforted by it.

~*~*~

The first two periods pass very slowly. And he should be grateful for that, for every second that he’s granted away from Sweet Pea, in this fragile illusion of almost-freedom where he at least gets to pretend. Not safe, not quite, but it’s all the reprieve he’s going to get and even though the knowledge that it’s not going to last isn’t enough to lessen the weight it carries. He should be soaking up every moment of it, locking it up inside of himself as something to hold onto once it’s over like an endlessly precious treasure.

But instead, the longer he sits there, his eyes flicking over to the clock above the door again and again and again of their own volition, the stranger he feels. The more that initial ache of relief starts to slowly twist in on itself. Morphing into a strange sort of unease, an itch beneath his skin that has him shifting restlessly in his seat, fingers playing with his pencil, drumming a jittery rhythm against his notepad until he catches himself and tries to make himself stop by wrapping his fingers around the edges of his table tightly. A quiet, creeping blanket of aimless anxiety that drapes itself over him, wraps itself around him until he feels its weight as if it were a physical thing.

All he knows is that his insides are twisting themselves into tight little knots of tension and he can’t shake the feeling that something’s _not right_ , that strange, yet undeniable sense of dark foreboding that classical authors like to use to hint at the imminent tragic fate of their protagonists. A seemingly aimless sense of _wrong_ that he can’t fucking place, that he can’t explain, try as he might, and it’s driving him crazy.

By the time the bell finally rings to herald the end of second period and people all around him start scrambling out of their seats and grabbing up their things so that they can start rushing out of the classroom and on to the rest of their busy day, Jughead’s neck and shoulders ares so fraught with stress he can feel a throbbing little headache start to radiate outwards from the back of his head and into his temples.

Toni gives him a concerned, questioning look as he stuffs his stuff into his bag jerkily and gets up to join her. But he just pulls in a shaky breath in an attempt to steady himself and shakes his head. He has no fucking clue what’s going on and he really doesn’t feel like trying to explain it to Toni. No matter how tempting it might be.

“You don’t look so good. What’s wrong?” Toni’s voice is hushed as she speaks, even though they’re among the last stragglers left in the classroom. A few rows of seats ahead of them, Veronica glanced back at him after getting up, a question in her eyes, but when he doesn’t react, she just shrugs and walks off with her books held elegantly against her chest, which works just fine for him.

“I don’t know. It’s nothing.” Jughead makes himself say, not wanting to admit to how much it unsettles him, not wanting to risk making her think that this was a bad idea somehow, that they might need to abort the experiment or something equally as horrible. He’s going to fucking hold onto this if it kills him. “Let’s just go. We’ll be late for next period.”

Toni doesn’t really look convinced, gives him a careful once-over with her arms folded in front of her stomach and one eyebrow raised inquisitively, but eventually she folds and heaves a sigh before she turns and starts following the last student out of the room. Jughead has Calculus next, Toni Chemistry. But it’s fine, because Fangs has Calculus with him, so he won’t be without a chaperon, he thinks with a biting twist to his mouth. The only thing that may or may not turn into a problem is that Archie is in that class with them. Which means no more avoiding him. Jughead tries to shake off the tension and the itchy restlessness as he follows Toni out into the hall, but he doesn’t succeed, not really.

The strangeness of being surrounded by all of these people, different levels of familiarity, of antipathy or indifference, wherever his eyes wander, still hasn’t worn off. The Serpents that pass them by in the halls all nod or smile or give tiny little half-ironic salutes in greeting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that anything at all has changed. That, at least, makes Jughead’s back straighten a little and he lifts his chin in a halfhearted imitation of his old self.

At least until the next wave of muted nausea washes over him out of nowhere and ends up making a sharp right, making a bee’s line to the boy’s restroom at the same time as he sees Fangs appear at the other end of the hallway. Ignoring the other students, Jughead stumbles over to the first free stall he can find and lets the door bang shut after him, not even bothering to lock it before he bends over the toilet bowl, one hand clutching at the wall to his right for support, the other propped up on his knee. He stands there shivering and breathing hard as he waits for his breakfast to make its way back up into the world, but in the end nothing happens.

No vomit, nothing writhing in his chest, no vicious black goo. Only the nausea and the faintness until that too, fades again, leaving him feeling drained and unsettled, but otherwise intact. Jughead straightens up carefully and pulls in a couple of steadying breaths until the little gray dots dancing around in front of his vision disappear as well. He has no fucking idea why he’s feeling this way when Sweet Pea isn’t anywhere near him. He should be doing _better_ , if anything. And yet, here he is. With clumsy hands he tugs at the neck of his t-shirt and pulls it away form his chest until he can get a glimpse of the amulet and the skin around it. It looks exactly the same as it had this morning.

Letting the shirt fall back into place, Jughead drags the back of his hand over his mouth and flushes the toilet, already having gone through with the motion when he realizes that it’s not actually necessary. He shakily shrugs it off and pulls open the door so that he can step out of the stall to find Fangs standing next to the sinks with a frown on his face and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans sullenly. Next to him Archie is just finishing up with washing his hands and reaching for a paper towel to dry them off, his back turned to Jughead. Archie looks up just in time for his eyes to meet Jughead’s in the mirror and Jughead watches an expression of startled recognition flit across Archie’s much too expressive features.

“Jug.” Archie turns around to look at him, his face darkening a little as he takes Jughead in, pale and unsteady as he is, and it stops Archie short for a moment.

“Hey.” Jughead mumbles back, hating how out of his depth he feels all of a sudden. Once upon a time things between Archie and him were so easy, natural and smooth and uncomplicated. Right now, though, it feels anything but, and no matter how hard Jughead’s been trying to get back to that ease and familiarity of their shared childhood, it’s been rough going, one bump after the other, and now more than ever Jughead feels that awkward rift between them starkly and painfully. Archie is and always will be his _best friend_. But right now Jughead can’t for the life of him think of the right thing to say to him. Only too keenly aware of Fangs standing right there and taking note of every word that leaves his mouth and the weight of fear for what it might mean for Archie, if he fucks up now making it hard to breathe right.

And Jughead can’t help but think that Archie looks kind of awkward, too, like he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself or this unexpected encounter. That really shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, on top of everything else.

“You look kind of rough, dude.” Archie finally says, good at stating the obvious, as always, but the concern in his voice and on his face seems genuine, at least. It makes something in Jughead’s chest pull painfully tight. Worsening the ache instead of softening it as he might have hoped. “Are you sure you shouldn’t take a couple more days off? Stay home until you feel better, if you’re still sick? I know I haven’t been staying in touch a lot, but you can always call, if you need something, right? Though things are probably easier now that your dad’s back home, right?”

It’s a little weird, watching Archie fumble like that, but Jughead still shoots Fangs a pointed glare when he snorts and rolls his eyes from where he’s leaning against the wall, waiting impatiently with his fingers drumming an irregular rhythm against his elbows. Archie, bless him, doesn’t really notice, but Jughead gets the message loud and clear.

“Nah, I look worse than I am.” Jughead forces out and hopes he sounds even the tiniest bit more convincing than he feels right now, as his mind races to find a way to make his excuses and get out, before Fangs loses his patience. “Look, class is about to start, I gotta run. But I’ll see you around?”

Jughead half expects Archie to protest, to keep pushing or try to stop him when he starts to walk past, but all Archie does is blink at him and murmur “Sure.” under his breath as he watches Jughead go.

Somehow, that was a lot easier than he’d expected, Jughead thinks, detached and a strange hollowness settling into his chest as the door to the bathroom falls shut after Fangs and him, leaving Archie behind inside. He guesses Archie’s just got a lot on his mind right now and things have been tense enough between them for a while anyway. It’s not like it’s Archie’s fault either. At least not entirely.

Jughead is so lost in his head that he almost runs right into someone in the hall, Ethel Muggs, he realizes belatedly. But she manages to swerve out of the way last minute and all she does is clutch her books to her chest and give him a puzzled look as he hurries past to keep up with Fangs.

Archie doesn’t even show up for Calculus. Jughead tries hard to be relieved instead of disappointed, but he doesn’t quite succeed. Things only get worse from there.

~*~*~

By the time the bell for lunch break rings, releasing them from Mr. Hawthorn’s ramblings about the history of the slide rule – something he likes to fall into at least twice a month, whenever he gets too bored with his actual subject of the day – Jughead feels uneasy enough to want to start crawling out of his own skin. His leg won’t stop bouncing under the table, Fangs glaring at him from his seat next to Jughead all throughout the lesson, and there’s a throbbing headache pounding in his temples. Harsh enough to make focusing his eyes on the board at the front of the class borderline painful.

It’s like there’s this pull in the pit of his stomach, like a hook twisted into his intestines, that’s tugging at him more and more insistently, urging him to move, to go, only Jughead can’t fucking tell _where_. It’s an aimless restlessness, insistent enough to make the nausea rise and ebb off in waves, growing more pronounced with each passing minute. Making it almost impossible to concentrate on the equations he’s supposed to be solving, even though this is something he’s usually actually kind of good at. It feels like the slowest, most harrowing descent into a fucking meltdown he’s ever gone through, inescapable and inexorable, and it kind of makes him desperately wonder, if he’s finally just going to fucking lose it. If this is his psyche telling him that he’s _done_ , the full weight of his situation only catching up with him now that some of it has been lifted.

It scares the shit out of him and he has no idea what to do about it, except try not to break down in the middle of the fucking school as hard as he can, even if that means hanging on by the skin of his teeth.

When he stuffs his things into his bag carelessly and gets up out of his chair, he has to stand there clutching at the edges of the table to balance himself for a moment as dark spots flit across his vision like static and he feels dangerously faint, swaying on his feet with his knees rubbery and unreliable. It takes a moment and a few deep breaths for the feeling to ebb off again and when he lifts his head to look up, he sees that Fangs has moved closer to him, hands kind of hovering in mid-air and a look on his face somewhere between annoyed and worried.

If it – whatever the hell ‘it’ is – keeps getting worse like this, Jughead thinks with a horrible sinking feeling in his gut, he won’t be able to make it through the fucking day without losing it and fucking everything up in the process. The quiet despair that settles into his bones at that is almost too much. He bites his lip harshly and shakes his head at Fangs to make him back off again, then adjusts the strap of his bag over his chest and makes himself move, does his best to concentrate on forcing his legs to cooperate.

He follows Fangs out of the classroom and through the hallways, towards a secluded corner of the schoolyard, where the Serpents have managed to stake off a regular lunch spot for themselves. The further they get, the more Jughead can feel the pull in his gut grow in intensity, the restlessness and anxiety rising up until his vision tunnels, going black around the edges and tinted gray with an inexplicable urgency, and he swears it’s like someone’s decided to grab a handful of his guts and yank him forward by it, his legs just barely managing to keep up with the pull as he stumbles along. All he can see is Fangs’ back right in front of him, his chest pulling tight with the rising panic, static rushing in his ears loud enough to drown out everything else and he knows he should do something, fucking _needs_ to, but trying to think around the feeling is like trying to swim through quicksand, nothing short of impossible.

When they get to that little smattering of tables and benches beneath the huge old oak tree at the outer edge of the yard, most of the Serpents are already there, seated around the tables with their lunches laid out before them, but Jughead hardly notices any of them. As if drawn by a magnet, his gaze zeros in on Sweet Pea, who’s leaning against the tree’s wide trunk with his arms crossed over his chest, his posture so stiff it almost looks painful and his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the sleeves of his jacket, with Toni’s eyes following the erratic movement worriedly.

As soon as Sweet Pea notices Fangs and Jughead approaching, he pushes away from the tree and starts to stride towards them with harsh, jerky steps, like he’s trying hard to keep himself from breaking out into a run or something, but only partially succeeding. Jughead freezes in his step, his stomach pulling tight enough to make the muscles flutter with the strain, that weird, insistent pull tugging against them from the inside, and his breath gets trapped in his throat.

Instead of greeting Fangs first, the Jughead thought that he would, Sweet Pea brushes past Fangs without so much as a glance and Fangs gives him a startled look, before his eyes narrow at Jughead and he huffs out a miffed breath. Because that’s where Sweet Pea is headed, his dark eyes boring into Jughead with a frightening intensity that has his blood run cold with a silent kind of terror and makes him want to shrink back from Sweet Pea, that makes Jughead want to turn on his heels and run, but he remains glued to the spot, unable to move, trapped by that inescapable pull in his gut. As if the control over his own body has been taken away from him.

And then Sweet Pea’s hands are closing around his shoulder, around the back of his neck where the gauze is covering the bite mark that stings and tingles at the pressure. Fingers sliding into the short hair sticking out from his beanie as Sweet Pea pulls him in until they’re chests are almost touching and leans down to press their foreheads together, skin warm against skin, the air leaving Jughead’s lungs in a startled whine he’s too frantic to be properly embarrassed about.

And just like that, the hook slips out of his gut and the tension and the restlessness and unease drain from him. The headache and the nausea dissipate as if they’d never been there in the first place and a wave of artificial relief and calm wash over him, strong enough to make Jughead’s vision white out for a second and his knees buckle dangerously. Sweet Pea sucks in a deep breath and shudders against him and Jughead can almost feel the same happening to him, tension seeping away as Sweet Pea’s shoulders drop and his grip on Jughead loses some of it’s urgency.

And that’s the exact moment that Jughead realizes how truly fucked he really is, in every sense of the word. Because being away from Sweet Pea is what had made him feel sick. A side-effect of the bond, the state it’s in right now, that’s the only explanation he’s got. And not even the fucking amulet he’s wearing had been able to stop it. Or, perhaps – and that thought is even more terrifying, more horrible than the alternative – the amulet _had_ worked and it would have been unbearably worse without it.

Sweet Pea makes a small surprised sound in the back of his throat and pulls his forehead away from Jughead’s. But instead of letting go of him, the way that Jughead had hoped, he wraps his arms around Jughead’s shoulders and pulls him closer until Jughead’s pressed up against him, Jughead’s cheek mashed against his shoulder borderline uncomfortable. Jughead tires to pull away, but Sweet Pea doesn’t let him, and the attempt is weak anyway.

Because he’s standing in the middle of the fucking schoolyard, the midday sun shining brightly through the freshly sprouted leaves of the tree crown above, and he’s _crying_. Right here where anyone can see, Sweet Pea’s broad frame the only thing shielding him from curious eyes and he doesn’t even fucking _care_ anymore. Because he’d thought this would _help_. He’d thought that getting out and away would be a good thing, that he’d finally find some sort of respite, even if just the tiniest bit, in being able to put distance between himself and Sweet Pea, in being an actual part of the world around him again.

But all it’s doing is making things worse, driving home the point of exactly how trapped he is, with harsh and inescapably final clarity. Being close to Sweet Pea is killing him – or, more accurately, as a scathing little voice at the back of his head supplies helpfully, him fighting against being close to Sweet Pea is killing him – but putting distance between them, even just the smallest bit, even just for a short little while, is hurting him just the same. There really is _nothing_ he can do at all, is there?

If he wants to survive, giving in and letting Sweet Pea have what he wants really is the only option he’s got and any illusion that he’d at least be able to have the tiniest bit of control over when and how shatters right in front of him. There’s no way he can keep fooling himself into thinking anything else. He was so close to breaking, even before this, teetering on the edge and clinging on by the bloodied and bruised tips of his fingers, and he’s just so god damn exhausted. Weary and worn down and stretched too thin, hollowed out from the defeat after defeat after horrible defeat he’s suffered over the course of the last week and he’s not sure how much more he’s got left. He thinks this might just be it.

The final, fatal blow.

One last strand of hope crushed, however small it had been in the first place. It still feels devastating. Multiplied way beyond its proportions by the state that he’s already in. And Sweet Pea is the last fucking person Jughead wants _comfort_ from right now, everything inside of Jughead that’s still functioning rebelling against the thought, against the forced proximity, but Sweet Pea’s the only one giving it and Jughead feels weak and numb enough to not fight him. To let himself be held, to lean into it until his legs seem like they’ll support his weight on their own again, even if it just ends up feeling like another betrayal. But he doesn’t know what else to do right now, because he’s got nothing left to keep himself upright with.

He’s done so much fighting and it’s gotten him nowhere at all.

One of Sweet Pea’s hands moves up to the back of Jughead’s head, cradling it over his beanie, big and wide and warm, and Jughead can feel the steady rhythm of Sweet Pea’s breathing in the way that his chest moves against him. The gesture feels possessive and assertive, even with the warmth seeping through and the unwanted effect it has on him, and when Jughead tenses in his embrace, Sweet Pea finally loosens it and lets go of him altogether. Jughead hates how disconcerting the loss of Sweet Pea’s tough, of his closeness, feels. Hates with everything he’s got left how much that clashes with the mess of repulsion and fear churning in his stomach like a maelstrom.

Instead of just stepping away entirely, though, Sweet Pea remains a shield between Jughead and the rest of the Serpents as he reaches with both hands to cradle Jughead’s face in them. His thumbs wiping across Jughead’s cheeks and at the moisture there. Jughead’s too drained, too defeated, to even try and decipher the look on Sweet Pea’s face.

He sniffs and wipes his sleeve across his nose as he tries to pull himself back together, tries to find a way to make the pieces of himself fit the way that they’re supposed to and fails miserably. Sweet Pea frowns at him and drops his hands away from Jughead’s face finally and Jughead’s stomach sinks with the feeling of it, no anchor point left, feeling unmoored like a ship lost at a stormy sea with no hope of ever making it back home. He almost finds himself leaning to take a step forward, to follow Sweet Pea’s retreating form, that pull tugging in the pit of his stomach again, though softly enough this time that he manages to stop himself before he can actually do it.

The world around him feels duller, like it’s edges have been soften by the stroke of a careless brush, cotton wrapped around everything and its color drained away until all that remains is a faded Polaroid-picture-lens and the vague memory of how it _should_ be but isn’t. All of it right there, but at the same time so far away it’s virtually unreachable to him. An invisible wall of suffering and twisted magic blocking his way and holding him captive.

When Sweet Pea turns and clasps a hand over Jughead’s shoulder to start steering him towards the others, Jughead catches Toni’s gaze, catches the dawning understanding in her expression and he knows that she’s figured it out. But he’s too numb, too hollowed out to feel any kind of triumph at the way her eyes shutter after that, at the hurt and the regret he can see shining through, deep-seated and harsh. But she’s quick to hide it anyway, the mark of someone who’s used to dealing with shit that hurts and finding ways to soldier on despite of it. Maybe he’ll get some satisfaction out of it later, when - ‘if’, a terrified little voice at the back of his mind whispers softly – he’s found his way back to himself, but not now.

Jughead doesn’t try to put more distance between between them as he and Sweet Pea settle next to each other on the bench. Doesn’t shake off Sweet Pea’s palm spread wide over the small of his back, the crawling discomfort of his touch a distant tickling sensation at the back of Jughead’s mind and nothing more, swallowed up by the hazy numbness of emotional fatigue.

Fangs takes a seat on Jughead’s other side, effectively caging him in, and it makes a bitter, ugly little smile twist up one corner of his mouth, because where the fuck would he even run, if he were dumb enough to try? Jughead keeps quiet all throughout lunch. He eats the food Sweet Pea pushes at him without tasting it, chewing and swallowing mechanically, ignores the questioning looks the other Serpents keep shooting him, and all that their conversations are to him is a swirling background buzz of noise he can’t quite seem connect the appropriate meaning to. He doesn’t really care to, either.

It’s like he’s not even really here. Like this is all just part of a bizarre illusion he’s trapped in. But when he digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands, just to see what’ll happen, he can still feel the sting of it and when he unfurls his hands, the crescents he’s dug into his skin are shimmering crimson with his own blood. He’s real and so is all of this. His mind wanders to Betty again, to that night at the diner after his birthday-party-gone-wrong. Recalling her softly whispered confession and the warmth he’d felt for her then. How seeing that vulnerability beneath her competent, chipper veneer had made him want to be stronger just for her, had made him want to bundle her up and protect her as much as he could, even though he’d been painfully aware of how ill-equipped he was for the task.

And all it had done was make his heart ache with how much he’d felt for her then. But the only thing that memory is good for now is hurting him even more, like a knife already stuck in his ribs being twisted just for the fun of it. And he’s quick to wipe his palms on the leg of his jeans, wiping away the lingering memory with it. He doesn’t want his feelings for her to brush up against the poison that’s inside of him now and somehow be tainted by it too. He cares too much to risk letting that happen.

So he dully prods at the hurt in his chest instead, at the tenderness around his heart like an open wound, makes it flare until his breath catches, just to chase away the last remnants of Betty’s ghost. And maybe, just a little, to prove to himself that he’s still capable of feeling that pain. That he’s not completely dead inside, yet, underneath that horrible numbness. And that’s good, that’s important, a part of him still remembers that much.

So he pulls in a deeper breath, despite the bruised feeling beneath his ribs, and then another, and another, until he actually feels alive again. And he sits and he waits for whatever the hell is going to happen next. All the while he can sense the other Serpents glancing at him out of the corners of their eyes, Toni most of all, and Sweet Pea’s hand on his back remains a solid, immovable presence, radiating warmth where it rests, Jughead’s skin pebbled unpleasantly underneath the layers of cloth still separating them.

~*~*~

All four of them, Toni, Fangs, Sweet Pea and him, have a free period after lunch, before Jughead, Fangs and Sweet Pea have to head off to Biology and Toni has Math. Jughead doesn’t really think that the student lounge is the smartest place to spend that free period, if they’re trying to keep their heads low, but while Toni seems to agree, she’s outvoted by some of the other Serpents, who share that free period with them. It’s not like they can tell the rest of of the Serpents _why_ it’s not a great idea either and Jughead’s not even sure he really cares anymore, so he doesn’t waste his breath.

Eventually Toni just shrugs and gives up and the whole thing is decided. Which is probably good, either way. With what little attention Jughead has been paying them, it seems like the other Serpents have started to pick up on the tension and the something’s-not-quite-right that’s hanging so heavily between the four of them, Sweet Pea and him especially. It’s making them seem restless and worried. And of course they would notice, as close-knit a group as they are. A family, Jughead reminds himself, sarcasm bitter and biting, as close as you can get without being blood.

And he’s still a part of that, Toni’s been trying to set that straight. They don’t actually hate him. A week ago he would have reveled in that knowledge, would have glowed with the feeling of having found his place, somewhere to truly belong, for what felt like the first time in his life. But now? All he feels now is tired and empty and what he’d believed to have found has been stained and tarnished, twisted into something ugly and wrong. A prison rather than a home. He still belongs, but at what cost? What does all of that really mean for him? Is giving in, giving up, and letting himself be bound to Sweet Pea for good going to change how he feels about it all?

Because even now, with how horribly wrong all of this is, he still hates himself more than he does the Serpents. Hates his own weakness and stupidity that got him here in the first place as much as he hates Sweet Pea, Fangs and Toni. And the longer he’s stuck in this swirling darkness that’s permeated his entire life, the more those lines between hatred and longing become blurred. Because he needs so baldy to not feel alone anymore, to have someone on his side, someone who cares about him, who’s willing to offer comfort and warmth and the more time passes by, the more hopeless and lost he feels, the more tempting it becomes to fall into what’s being offered to him, even if it’s from people he should despise with all he’s worth.

It’s an inescapable, desperate conundrum and Jughead thinks that maybe he’s just about cracked and splintered enough to not care anymore. Almost. He’s not loosing this battled, it’d been lost the moment it’d began, he just hadn’t realized until now.

Jughead flinches, startled out of his train of thought, when Sweet Pea’s hands wrap around his sides and Sweet Pea pulls him off of the bench and onto his feet carefully. The others cast him worried glances as he tries to catch his breath, his heart racing in his throat, and he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his Sherpa hurriedly to hide how badly they’re shaking. Sweet Pea mutters a quiet curse under his breath and Jughead forces himself to start moving, following the others as they head back towards the school building, regardless of how ungainly his limbs still feel, just so that Sweet Pea won’t be tempted to do anything like that again. At least for now.

When Sweet Pea comes even with him, though, one of his hands moving up to rest between Jughead’s shoulder blades, his fingers grazing the gauze covering the bite just so, Jughead clenches his teeth as hard as he can and doesn’t try to push him off. Bites down on the impulse, on the heavy surge of burning aversion and urgency in his chest, until he feels dizzy with it. Best he learns how to breathe around it now. Best he starts to try to find a way to deal with it, no matter how much he fucking hates it. Because he’s going to need to. The things he’ll have to do, he’ll have to figure out how to live with from now on in order to survive, are going to be a lot worse than a hand on his back through three layers of clothes.

Jughead’s vision clouds up for a moment, his chest pulling tight until his ribs ache with the strain, but he swallows forcefully a couple of times, until the lump in his throat climbs back down and he can see where he’s going again. He pulls up his shoulders and slouches, tries to make himself smaller and inconspicuous, the way he’s so very good at, that makes people leave him alone and not pay too much attention.

They’re relatively lucky when they get to the student lounge. The only ones there are Reggie and a couple of his stupid bulldogs, but they’re already in the process of leaving for next period, so it looks like the Serpents are going to have the place for themselves for now. The bulldogs glower at them as they walk past, but that’s all they stoop down to do, small mercies and all that. Looks like the fragile truce Archie and him had tried to set up is still holding, at least enough to keep Bulldogs and Serpents from jumping at each other’s throats every fucking chance they get. Jughead has no illusions about how stable the situation is, he knows that all it’s going to take is one stupid spark to reignite the powder keg of their dynamic. But it’s the best they’ve got for now. The last thing Jughead’s got the capacity for right now is worrying about any of that stupid bullshit anyway.

Toni snorts and plops down in one of the armchairs in the center of the room, a sullen expression on her face that quickly morphs into something more tired than pissed. Sweet Pea steers Jughead over to the sofa next to her and Jughead just goes along unresisting, does as he’s asked when Sweet Pea tells him to sit in a tone boding no argument. What good would being fucking contrary do him now anyway? So he sinks down into the lumpy cushions by the armrest and presses his spine tightly against the backrest of the couch, desperately trying to chase away the ghost of Sweet Pea’s touch. Fangs takes a seat on the other end of the sofa, leaving the middle space open for Sweet Pea as the other Serpents find spots of their own to plop down and spread out on.

A frown pulling at Sweet Pea’s drawn features he gives Jughead a contemplative look that Jughead returns wearily, then, after a moment, drops his bag at Jughead’s feet and stalks off to the back of the room, where the vending machines are located. Jughead’s muscles relax the tiniest bit, even though he knows Sweet Pea won’t stay gone for long, even though he’s now painfully aware of what it would mean for him, if Sweet Pea did.

The soft murmur of conversation rises up, familiar and lulling, but Jughead is too focused on what’s going on behind him, out of sight, to pick up on any of what is being said. A weird, unpleasant tingling between his shoulder blades, Jughead strains to hear Sweet Pea move, the metallic click of the vending machine as he feeds it with some coins – that sound Jughead would recognize in his sleep – and then the rustle of something being spit out by it. The heavy tread of boots as Sweet Pea walks back over to the seating area.

When Sweet Pea rounds the couch, he wordlessly tosses something at Jughead that hits him square in the chest and he scrambles to catch it, before it can fall to the ground. Then holds it cradled in his hands and musters it, his nose scrunching up as he does, only to find that it’s a pack of spicy taco chips. His favorite. The confusion doesn’t settle one bit, the feeling of being lost only heightened by it.

Jughead sucks in a breath when Sweet Pea takes up the free space on the sofa, seating himself so that they’re pressed against each other from Jughead’s shoulder to his knee, Sweet Pea’s body a firm, warm line against his side. Sweet Pea left arm drapes over the back of the sofa behind Jughead, a buzzing presence at the back of Jughead’s head, even though it’s not touching him, not quite. But Jughead doesn’t lift his eyes from the pack of chips in his hands. He feels very small again, small and far away and very alone, Sweet Pea’s warmth seeping into him, the hard shape of his body, the only things anchoring Jughead in the here and now and he hopelessly, desperately hates it.

“You’re supposed to eat that, not stare at it until it evaporates or something.” Sweet Pea murmers under his breath, sounding irritated and grumpy. Jughead blows out a shuddering stream of air, his fingers tightening on the little bag in his hands until the air inside of it makes it pull taught and he has to be careful to have it explode all over his lap. He’s saved from further action, though, at least for the moment, by a painfully familiar voice drifting over to him, just loud enough to break through the chatter around him. He glances up, eyes a little too wide, only to find Betty standing there at the edge of the Serpents’ little circle of seating choices.

“Jug?” She tries again, her voice tentative, unsure, and unable to hide the worry shining in her bright blue eyes as she musters him carefully. She’s wearing one of her cheerful pink sweaters and a jeans skirt, her hands clasped around a book held in front of her, resting softly against the top of her thighs. Her hair is pulled back into her signature ponytail, pristine and perfect, even though he knows how much she hates that word.

Something heavy and cold settles in Jughead’s gut like a large stone, weighing him down until it hurts to breathe. He swallows around the sudden dryness in his mouth and clears his throat. At his side, Sweet Pea’s muscles pull taut with tension suddenly and Sweet Pea’s hand slips off of the back of the sofa and onto Jughead’s shoulder pointedly, fingers digging into the muscle just short of painful as he shifts and leans forward in his seat. Only serving to make the fear in Jughead’s stomach twist even harder.

“Ponytail.” Sweet Pea says in lieu of a greeting, his tone mocking, and Jughead is all too aware of his displeasure, Sweet Pea’s hand clamped tightly around Jughead’s shoulder like a quiet warning. Betty just gives Sweet Pea a slightly irate glance before settling her attention back on Jughead. He hurries to step in before Sweet Pea has a chance to say anything else, his heart fluttering anxiously, all too painfully aware of what’s at stake if he fucks up in any way, his head spinning with a dizzying, nauseating picture show of horrors, of what might happen should he fail to navigate this situation properly.

“Hey.” Jughead forces himself to say. It comes out rough and awkward and it does nothing to soothe the troubled expression on Betty’s face or the flicker of suspicion in her eyes, there and gone again, and he knows that he’s going to have to try a lot harder than that, if he wants to keep her safe. The way Sweet Pea’s arm has shifted has it pressing up against the gauze covered bite mark on the back of his neck and the prickly wave of sensation that sends down his spine makes it hard to concentrate.

“Are you alright? You look pretty rough. And you didn’t answer any of my calls. I was worried about you.” She says, more determination in her voice now. More the Betty he knows and loves and – he trips of on that word, slipped into his mind unbidden, and loses his train of thought, left reeling and shaken in its aftermath. The truth it still holds blindsiding him like a fist to the gut. The pause is long and awkward enough to make her take a cautious step closer, into the circle of Serpents, completely ignoring Sweet Pea and the others. So close now that Jughead could reach out and touch her, if he wanted. And, God, he _wants_ so badly it hurts, the familiar comfort of her skin against his, even if it’s just the soft brush of fingers against the back of her hand. But he can’t. He won’t.

He never thought he’d be this fucking grateful to have ended their relationship before he came back to Riverdale High. He’s spent so many hours regretting it, but in the end, he thinks it probably saved her life. If they’d still been together when Sweet Pea – Jughead crushes that thought before it can fully from, violently trying to beat himself back into functioning shape.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I-” Jughead starts too softly, but then falters and catches himself. He does his best to steel himself, to feel as little as he can as he makes his voice sound colder, more dismissive. His words echo strangely in the hollow of his chest. “I didn’t really want to talk.”

Betty’s guarded, very aware of all of the eyes on her, but Jughead can still see that his words and his tone catch her unexpectedly. Just a tiny little crack in her shiny veneer before she gets a handle on it and manages to cover it up again, but Jughead knows her much too well to not see it anyway. He digs his fingers into his thighs until it hurts, just to distract himself from the emotion bubbling up in his chest. At least his words make Sweet Pea’s grip on his shoulder relax a little.

“OK.” Betty says carefully and it almost sounds more like a question, than a statement. Her eyes skid over to Sweet Pea, brows furrowed, then settle back on Jughead. The look she gives him is imploring, like she’s willing him to understand everything that she’s _not_ saying through the bond of their shared history and Jughead feels the pull of it painfully sharp. “Can we have a word in private? It won’t take long.”

Jughead digs his fingers into his thighs harder, the nails catching on and bending against the rough denim of his jeans. But before he can bring himself to brush her off in a way that will keep her from asking any more questions, that will make her turn around and leave and let it go the way he desperately needs her to, Sweet Pea speaks up again.

“Didn’t you hear him, princess? He doesn’t want to talk to you.” There’s bite in Sweet Pea’s voice, an aggression that makes Jughead’s head snap towards him, and to his horror he can see the dim but unmistakable flicker of Sweet Pea’s wolf in his eyes, Sweet Pea’s face pulled into a mean grimace. Glancing back at Betty, her face pulled tight in answer, resolution and indignation making her stand up taller and square her shoulders, he sees her pull in a breath to shoot something back at Sweet Pea that will no doubt only serve to make things worse.

So Jughead does the one thing he can and cuts her off, before she has a chance to get the words out, pulling her attention back onto himself firmly. “He’s right.” Jughead rushes and the words taste bitter and vicious on his tongue. He can still feel their lingering burn even after they’ve left his mouth. “Look. I know we agreed to be friends and everything. And I do think that’s what I want. But I need more time, alright. I need some space here. It’s not that easy.”

And, God, he knows he’s being such an asshole for doing this in front of everyone, instead of at least giving her the courtesy of hurting her like that in private, where other’s wouldn’t be able to glean their voyeuristic joy from the pain he’s causing her. But he _knows_ that Sweet Pea wouldn’t let him go. And pushing her away is the only way he knows how to keep her safe right now. Even, if he’s breaking his own heart all over again in the process as well.

The look on her face… he never wanted to see that look ever again, let alone be the one who put it there.

“You were the one, who broke up with me, remember?” She says, accusation in her voice, thick with emotion, and Jughead can tell right away that she hadn’t even wanted to say that much, not here and now, but the words are out and she can’t take them back. She sounds watery and strained, but she’s not crying. She’s stronger than that.

Some of the Serpents snicker quietly, and Jughead fucking hates the way that it makes her flinch ever so slightly. He needs to end this quickly, before it does more damage than he’ll be able to fix. If he’ll ever even get a chance to try.

“Yeah, I do. And I remember having a pretty good reason, too.” He says. Because he was trying to protect her then as much as he is now, the desperate need to keep her safe his most powerful drive. And maybe that was already saying too much. It makes her face close off and her mouth pull into a thin, determined line, her eyes on him turning hard with her own pain. Maybe she’ll understand, once the hurt has ebbed off and she’s managed to move on, Jughead thinks, his eyes burning furiously and trying so hard not to let it show.

“Fine. I guess I’ll see you around, then.” She presses out, before turning on her heels and walking out of the student lounge with her head held purposefully high, her ponytail bouncing softly as she goes. Keeping himself from reaching out to stop her almost takes more than Jughead has left in him, but he manages. Just so. He knows that there would have been so much more she would have said had they been alone. Not having to hear any of that is probably the only mercy he’s going to get.

Jughead lets his head thud against Sweet Pea’s arm on the back of the couch, eyes slipping shut as he does his best to breathe through the ache in his chest and waits for it to dull down to something a little more manageable, his eyes burning furiously. God, he’s so fucking tired. After a moment of curious silence, chatter begins to pick back up around them, people returning to their interrupted conversations once it’s clear that there won’t be any more of a show to be had. Next to him, pressed against his side as he is, Jughead can feel Sweet Pea deflate and sink into himself, overly tense muscles loosening as he breathes a quiet sigh that sounds almost as weary as Jughead feels. It doesn’t make him hate Sweet Pea any less.

“Hey, did your ex ever have a pet cat or something?” Fangs’ voice startles Jughead out of his miserable train of thought and Jughead blinks his eyes open to glance at him, the apparent non-sequitur strange enough to have Jughead’s mind go blank for a second with the whiplash of trying to follow. Fangs’ voice was low enough that none of the other Serpents, aside from Sweet Pea, Jughead and maybe Toni would have heard him.

“She used to have one, when she was a kid, yeah. Her name was Caramel, but she died a good while ago. _Why_?” Jughead blurts, too bewildered to stop himself. He doesn’t _want_ to talk about Betty anymore. He desperately wants to be left alone so that he can lick his wounds and try to pretend like the last 15 minutes or so never happened, try to find solace in the fact that Betty is going to be safe for now, at least. The last thing he feels like doing is sharing childhood memories of her with his fucking captors. He’s hurting badly enough as it is and he can’t help the surge of anger, at himself most of all, for having spoken up, that rises sharply.

“Was it an orange tabby?” Fangs asks instead of answering Jughead’s question, his eyes lingering on the doorway to the student lounge, where Betty’d disappeared into the hallway not too long ago, instead of on Jughead.

“Yes?” And now Jughead’s _really_ thrown, a scowl pulling at his features insistently as he follows Fangs’ gaze, finds absolutely nothing of interest there, and lets his eyes settle back on Fangs himself. Jughead has no fucking clue what Betty’s childhood pet cat has to do with anything or how the _hell_ Fangs would even _know_ that in the first place, until – _Oh_. Eyes wide, Jughead blinks at Fangs, a cold shudder running down his spine and a fresh wave of unease taking hold of him. Aware that he’s staring like an idiot, but too taken aback to do anything about it.

“Did it die in some kind of accident or something? The side of its head is all smashed in. Looks pretty gross. Kinda like something straight out of Pet Cemetery.” Fangs goes on, his voice thoughtful but a lot lighter than the circumstances should warrant. Seemingly not the least bit concerned with the topic as he finally turns his gaze toward Jughead and raises an eyebrow at him, when Jughead doesn’t answer right away.

“I – yeah, it got run over by a car, I think? Why? Are you-?” Jughead finally manages to stammer, jumbling up the words clumsily, but before he can make up his mind about what questions to ask, Fangs interrupts him again, talking over him and sounding almost bored as he does. So blazé about the whole thing it makes Jughead feel a little dizzy.

“Well, I guess it looks like the ghost of your ex’s childhood pet cat is following her around for some mysterious reason.” Fangs concludes and narrows his eyes at the doorway to the student lounge a little, brow furrowing into a slight frown as he adds: “And I don’t think it likes us all that much.”

Jughead glances at the doorway, too, out of reflex, even though he already knows he’s not going to find anything there, then back at Fangs, cold dread settling into his bones and mixing strangely, unpleasantly in with the hurt and the despair and the defeat that have already made a home there. At his side, Jughead can feel Sweet Pea’s muscles thrumming with the same kind of tension as before, unhappy with the topic, unhappy with _Betty_ , and Jughead feels something cool and shivery slither through his gut at that. He shouldn’t be talking about her at all, if he wants to keep her safe. He has to try so, so hard not to think about what Sweet Pea might be capable of under the thrall of jealousy, and even the the slightest possibility of anything at all happening to Betty because of him has Jughead’s blood freeze in his veins.

But at the same time the need to make sure that she’s not in any danger from a direction Jughead hadn’t even considered up until now is equally as strong and he feels torn between those two horrors. He has never been confronted with the concept of ghosts before and he has no idea how bad they can get. The only point of reference he has is the huge array of horror movies he’s seen dealing with the subject and he probably doesn’t need to mention how much that _isn’t_ helping to ease his worries.

“Is that a bad thing? Can it hurt her?” Jughead finally blurts out, unable to stop himself, even as he feels Sweet Pea shift unhappily at his side. Jughead pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down on it as he watches Fangs’ frown deepen and a shrug pull at his shoulders, and he’s only too aware of how precarious the balancing act he’s trying to pull off right now is.

“I don’t know.” Fangs finally concedes, which doesn’t actually fucking help at all. “Animals don’t often hang around, you know, after they die. Not unless their death was really traumatic and there’s some strong emotion keeping them from moving on. And they don’t usually seem as ‘sentient’ as that weird cat of hers. But it didn’t seem particularly aggressive, either, I think. At least not towards _her_.”

“OK.” Jughead huffs out a shaky breath. That answer isn’t really enough to make the tight knot of apprehension and worry in his stomach ease up as much as he would have liked. But if it’s really Caramel following Betty around, that would mean it’s been doing so for a pretty long time, considering how young Betty was when Caramel died. He’d try to ask Toni, later, if there’s anything he can do to make sure Betty stays safe, but he’s too afraid of what bringing Betty up again might do, even just to Toni.

Jughead leans forward in his seat, his elbows digging into his knees, so that he can rest his face in his palms, the balls of his hands pressing against his tightly closed eyes until bright stars start to dance across his vision. Everything inside of him feels tense, pulled taught and teetering just on the edge of snapping. The discarded pack of chips rustles in his lap as he moves. How the hell is he supposed to deal with any of this shit properly?

“Well,” Fangs adds dryly as he leans back on the couch, judging by the creak and shift of the cushions and springs, “at least she doesn’t have her dead _twin brother_ following her around. Because, let me tell you, that is _way_ more weird _and_ worrying than a stupid cat.”

“Oh, for the love of – stop with that already. We’ve talked about it more than enough.” Toni shoots back defensively, a scowl clear in her voice. Next to him Sweet Pea makes a low sound that rumbles through his chest in a way Jughead can feel only too keenly and he shudders, unable to help it as his throat pulls tight. Jughead doesn’t want to move or be a fucking part of this at all. He’s got nothing left to even try to process this weirdness with. He’s barely keeping it together as it is. Let them talk about whatever the fuck they want to as long as they keep him out of it.

“What?” Sweet Pea grumbles, impatience making his voice sound rougher than usual and Jughead just so manages to stop himself from flinching away from him, wound tight enough for the smallest thing to set him off. He tries hard to concentrate on breathing and nothing else. “What the hell did I miss?”

“I’m warning you.” Toni says sternly, cutting Fangs off before he has a chance to say anything more, and Jughead can feel the cushions of the couch shift again. “I told you I’ve go it handled.”

“You have extremely dubious taste, just so you know.” Fangs shoots back, his voice sullen as if he’s fucking pouting or something. “Why is it that you always have to go for damaged and deranged?”

“It’s not my fault that hot and crazy run so close together, alright? Besides,” Toni goes on, her tone very no-bullshit, and it sounds a lot like they’ve had this argument at length before, Jughead thinks numbly, struggling not to let the tightness in his chest overtake. “I told you, I’ve got a _feeling_ about this one.” The emphasis she puts on the word ‘feeling’ makes Jughead wonder faintly, if she’s talking about her weird intuition thing or if she’s just trying to get Fangs off her back.

“And anyway. You really shouldn’t be the one casting stones here.” Toni goes on, clearly not in the mood to back down any time soon. “You’ve been drooling after the _Sheriff’s_ kid ever since we switched schools. You know, the one who has a crush so obvious you could see it from the _moon_ on some _other_ dude.”

“Ouch.” Fangs murmurs sullenly from his spot next to Sweet Pea.

Jughead vaguely expects the bickering to go on, but instead a strange sort of silence falls and he sighs out a shuddering breath and lifts his head to see what the hell is going on now. That small motion almost requires more effort than he’s got left in him, but he manages just so, not even entirely sure whether or not he actually _wants_ to find out what has caused that silence. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to deal with anything else going wrong today.

Both Fangs and Sweet Pea are looking at Toni questioningly, who has stiffened in her seat, her gaze gone inward, distracted. Then she turns and Jughead follows her gaze to the empty doorway of the student lounge, his nose scrunching up and his brows furrowing as he tries to figure out what caught her attention. A second later, the energetic, determined click of heels echoes down the hall and Cheryl appears in the open door frame. Glossy red hair flowing in shiny waves down to her waist and face pulling into a frown as her gaze drifts into the lounge and catches on the four of them, making her pause her step for a moment.

Her eyes drift from Fangs, to Sweet Pea, to Jughead, and for a moment Jughead feels like a fluttering, tiny little butterfly pinned to a board by a needle the way that her eyes bore into him, frown deepening into a scowl as her pouty lips purse unhappily. The irrational need to hide himself away, to curl up and disappear bubbles up in Jughead suddenly, her scrutiny too much with how raw and bruised he already feels.

And for some reason the fear that her sharp gaze will be able to look right into him, to see all that’s wrong and twisted and tainted now, to see all of the horrors he carries inside of himself if she only looks long enough, makes his stomach drop out and turn icy cold. He just barely resists the urge to lift up his hand to shield his nape where the gauze covers the bite, white strips of tape peaking out across the sides of his neck where he can feel them pull at his skin whenever he shifts his head.

Then, so unexpected it makes Jughead flinch and startle, Toni moves. Shifts in her seat so that her folded up legs untangle and her high-heeled shoes thud softly back onto the floor, and Cheryl’s gaze snaps over to her, away from Jughead. As soon as her eyes are gone from him, Jughead blows out a shuddering breath he hadn’t even been aware he was holding. At his side, Sweet Pea’s gone all stiff and rigid again, his hand dropping back onto Jughead’s should, fingers digging into the muscle just short of painful, and Jughead flinches again, though Sweet Pea does not let himself be deterred or shaken off. Jughead doesn’t want to glance up at him to see the expression on his face, the feeling of fresh dread hooking into his stomach at the palpable threat of violence already hard enough to swallow around as it is.

The expression on Cheryl’s face changes suddenly, her eyes going slightly wide in surprise for a second, but she quickly covers it by jerking her chin up and pulling her shoulders back, adapting a haughty, regal air as she abruptly starts to move again. Continuing her walk down the corridor with the brusque click of her heels echoing after her, acting as if the hint of color on her cheeks hadn’t been there at all.

“Fuck.” Fangs breathes out lowly and Jughead turns toward him just in time to see him do a full body shudder. “That girl is creepy as hell, if you ask me. And don’t even get me started on her dead fucking brother. He keeps _touching_ her. Like he’s trying to get her attention or something. And that’s _not_ a good sign. Plus, every time she shows up, he keeps staring directly at me, with this look in his eyes like he wants to fucking murder me. I swear to God that dude knows I can see him.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be such a baby about it.” Toni chimes in, bending over to grab her school bag and then lifting herself out of her seat hurriedly, a private little grin dancing across her lips as she does so. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go let a hot chick hurl insults at me. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, boys.”

With that, Toni walks out of the student lounge, a determined expression on her face and a playful glint lighting up her warm brown eyes, one corner of her mouth twisted upward in a wry grin. Jughead follows her with his gaze, not entirely sure what the hell is going on or why on earth anyone – least of all Toni – would want to go chasing after _Cheryl Blossom_ of all people.

Sweet Pea relaxes into the cushions of the couch a bit and his hand leaves Jughead’s shoulder, moving up to the backrest again, and Jughead breathes a quiet sigh of relief, some of that horrible tension seeping out of him and leaving him feeling utterly drained. He can still feel the warmth of Sweet Pea’s body seeping into his side from his shoulder all the way down to his knee, though, in a way that has his stomach twisting up and fluttering around until the amulet on his chest warms up and prickles uncomfortably.

In a vain attempt to alleviate the sensation, Jughead moves his leg away from Sweet Pea’s, but Sweet Pea just ends up spreading his wider and further invading Jughead’s space, keeping them flush together. An unconscious gesture, the action so natural to him that it doesn’t even warrant a thought and Jughead has to fight hard to bite back on the hopeless surge of anger and bitterness that climbs up into his throat. Because there’s fuck all he can do about it and this is his God damn life now.

“When did _that_ happen?” Sweet Pea’s voice rumbles out, deep and tinged with irritation, as it usually is, and Jughead can feel it vibrate through his side disconcertingly.

Jughead looks over in time to see Fangs shrug his shoulders and reach up to scratch at his hear, one eyebrows raised and his gaze still stuck on the empty doorway. “I don’t know man. I’m not even sure what ‘that’ is exactly. Toni’s not usually the type to go chasing after people that aren’t interested. And that Cheryl chick gives me the creeps, honestly. I have no idea what Toni likes about her. Sure, she’s kind of hot, if you’re into the whole bat-shit-crazy thing. Toni’s been talking to her a lot lately. It’s like she thinks, if she’s persistent enough she’ll wear her down eventually or something. But I really don’t see it, man. The only thing I’ve been able to gather so far is that for someone who hates our guts as much as Ms. Teenage Beauty Queen does, she sure as Hell seems to have a lot of questions about us.”

“Huh.” Sweet Pea shifts in his seat, the fabric of his shirt brushing up against Jughead’s side, rucking up his own a little and Jughead hurries to pull it back into place, his grip on the hem white-knuckled, tight enough to pull the fabric out of shape. Sweet Pea doesn’t seem to notice or care. “Well, I she knows what she’s doing, I guess. Her ‘hunches’ can be a bit wacky, but there’s usually something there, if she says it is. Even, if it’s hard to see sometimes.”

Sweet Pea shifts again, his thigh brushing up against Jughead’s, sending a jolt up his leg that settles in his chest, the tingling of the amulet growing more pronounced where it sits against his skin, and that’s it. That’s all that Jughead can fucking take. He’s been able to mostly ignore it up until now, with everything else that’s been going on, but not anymore. It just feeds into the swirling mess of dread and fear in his guts and it’s all too fucking much. With a motion abrupt enough to startle all of them, Jughead jerks up off of the couch and grabs his bag, stuffs the small pack of chips into it, breathing too quickly with his hands shaking precariously, the need to move, to get out fucking _now_ , all consuming and undeniable.

“I need some fresh air before class starts again.” Jughead manages to force out through clenched teeth, his voice off even to his own ears, and he can feel the eyes of the other Serpents in the lounge bore into him only too clearly.

He makes to move, all but ready to fucking bolt from the room, the need for caution, to not draw attention to himself, all but forgotten. He’s breathing too quickly and it feels like the fucking walls are starting to close in on him and the sensation of something crawling around right beneath his skin is so intense he’s about ready to start pealing it away with his fingernail, and he fucking needs to do something about it _now_. Before he can get anywhere, though, Sweet Pea’s hand shoots out and catches his elbow, warm and broad, like a steel band wrapping itself around the joint, utterly immovable.

Jughead pulls at it anyway, halfway to frantic already as he glances back at Sweet Pea over his shoulder, a tiny hint of gold flickering behind the dark brown of Sweet Pea’s eyes as he glares up at Jughead. The words get stuck in Jughead’s throat as it closes up and he stares back at Sweet Pea wide-eyed and pale, all but begging with his eyes, with the look on his face that he can feel pull at all the wrong muscles, terror much too evident to anyone who cares to pay attention.

After a second, though, the harsh quality of Sweet Pea’s expression falls away, replaced by something softer, something more like hurt, as his eyebrows smooth out and his mouth pulls into a thin line. “I’m coming with you.” He says in a low voice, meant to be soothing, maybe. But he lets go of Jughead’s arm when he gets up at least, and it feels like Jughead can breathe the tiniest bit easier for it.

Jughead turns and rushes out of the student lounge, down the hall and towards the nearest exit, walking as quickly as he can without breaking into an outright run. He doesn’t bother to look back and see, if Sweet Pea is still following. There’s not a doubt in Jughead’s mind that Sweet Pea can keep up with him without breaking a sweat, even in his current state. He doesn’t stop to examine what that thought does to him, he can’t fucking afford to right now, when he’s already spiraling this badly. The floor underneath his feet feels like it’s throwing waves.

As soon as he finally steps outside, that first frantic breath of cool air rushes into his burning lungs, sending a shock through his body that’s almost enough to snap him out of it. He stumbles a few steps away from the door and leans his lower back against the wall of the building, bending forward with his hands bracing on his thighs and his head hanging low as he takes shuddering breath after shuddering breath. Trying as hard as he can to remind himself that the world isn’t as small as it feels right now. That there are reasons in it to keep going, to keep pushing himself, to fin a way to survive, even if everything seems bleak and hopeless and excruciatingly painful right now.

Sweet Pea’s heavy boots crunch gravel underfoot, but Sweet Pea stops a couple of paces away from him and doesn’t reach out for Jughead. Doesn’t try to touch him again.

Jughead can feel Sweet Pea’s eyes on him still, dark and heavy, his gaze holding a weight of its own, but at least that’s all it is.

He’s not sure how long they stand there like that, both of them silent as he tries to pull himself back together again enough to function throughout the rest of his classes today. It feels like a really long time.

They make it to their next period just short of being late.

~*~*~

The rest of the school day passes Jughead by in a washed-blur. Sweet Pea has his last two classes with him, a constant dark, looming presence at his side. So at least he doesn’t have to go through that awful feeling of restlessness and despair again, that being away from Sweet Pea for too long had triggered. The point has been driven home thoroughly enough. It’s a small mercy. Jughead’s not sure whether to be grateful or to hate it.

Sweet Pea is right next to him as they filter out of the school building once the bell at the end of their last class has rung, his hand resting big and warm on the small of Jughead’s back as they get jostled about by the constant stream of bodies that can’t get a start into their weekend fast enough. When Sweet Pea hands him his helmet, Jughead accepts it numbly, wordlessly puts it on and climbs onto the back of Sweet Pea’s bike behind him. Even as the prospect of returning to Sweet Pea’s trailer looms over his head like a guillotine. Nothing he can say or do is going to change a thing about it, so why waste his fucking energy? He’s completely powerless in this and nothing’s going to change that.

At least the chill wind in his face as Sweet Pea’s bike rumbles down the road, Fangs and Toni following after, is a welcome contrast to the solid warmth of Sweet Pea’s back against his chest, of Sweet Pea’s strong thighs against the insides of his own.

He closes his eyes and keeps his mind empty as best he can.

~*~*~

Jughead only opens his eyes again when the tires of Sweet Pea’s bike leave the road and settle over onto dirt, speed slowing as they enter Sunny Side’s lot. Sweet Pea’s trailer looms dark and foreboding ahead of them, a sharp-cut silhouette against the slowly settling dusk. Coming back here feels different than Jughead would have expected. _He_ feels different. There’s still that horrible, skin crawling sense of dread that he’d anticipated, but the new sense of finality, of inevitability, brings a strange sort of calm with it as well. A numbness that wraps around the fear like a heavy blanket, softening it somewhat, although he’s not sure whether that’s a good thing or not.

Jughead climbs off of Sweet Pea’s bike, glad to put some distance between them again – even if he doesn’t know how long that will last – to find that Fangs and Toni have stopped with them, their helmets gone as they leave their bikes resting on the stands. Fangs steps up to Sweet Pea with a grin on his face and starts to say something, but Jughead doesn’t really catch it. He gets distracted by Toni walking up to him, her eyes intent and holding his as she speaks. She’d seemed somewhat distracted for the rest of the day after their free period, but her gaze is clear now.

“Fangs and I are going to come by tomorrow around noon, after you’ve gone to see your dad. To check in on you guys. And to make sure we’re keeping up with those lessons we talked about. They’re still important. Alright? Take another look at the notebooks and maybe jot down some questions in the meantime, if you can.” Her voice is soft as the words sink into him and it takes a moment to realize what it is that she’s saying. They’re going to let him see his dad. He’s going to go _home_ , even if just for a moment. That thought makes his chest ache so badly he has to fight back the sting in his eyes. The small burst of hope it brings almost more painful than the despair had been.

It fills him up with longing so sharp-edged he can feel it prickle in the tips of his fingers, so close to overflowing it almost manages to drown out everything else.

Then, Toni startles him by taking another step forward, invading his personal space, and leaning up onto her tows until she can wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him into a tight hug. Jughead just stands there like an idiot, frozen with his arms half reaching for her, suspended in the air awkwardly, blindsided and reeling with it. Her hair brushes against the side of his neck, silky and ticklish and he can smell jasmine and coconut when she cants her head closer to his ear.

“You’re one of us. Now more than ever. Alright? We’re not trying to take that away from you. We _want_ you with us. Please don’t kill yourself trying to fight it. It doesn’t have to be like this. It’s all up to you.” She speaks so low that Jughead has to strain to hear her, but he does, and the words cut into him sharp and perfectly clear, like tiny little daggers aimed right at his heart. Right at the core of him.

And he wants to hate her so, so fucking much. He wants to throw those words right back at her, tell her that he doesn’t need her pity, that he doesn’t _want_ to be a part of something as fucked up as this. But he’s not that strong, he guesses, because he doesn’t do any of that. He can’t. Instead, he latches onto her words, wraps his arms around her waist and latches onto _her_ as well. Tilts down until he can bury his face in the shoulder of her jean jacket, one of her hands coming up to cradle the back of his head over his beanie.

She doesn’t say anything about the way that he’s shaking, just holds on that little bit tighter in response, and she doesn’t pull away, even as he breaks down and his eyes finally spill over, soaking wet patches into her jacket. Breaking down in a way that’s anything but graceful, that small bit of kindness that she’s offering overwhelming in how fucking much he needs it, even if he doesn’t want it. And it has to be uncomfortable the way he’s clinging to her, but he can’t bring himself to loosen his grip and all she does is hold him in turn.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, only that it has to be a while before he manages to get enough of a grip to start pulling back, her arms slipping away from his shoulder leaving be a strange sense of loss behind in the pit of his stomach. Jughead sniffs and quickly wipes his sleeve across his cheeks and eyes before looking up. Both Fangs and Sweet Pea are staring at them silently, but Jughead lets his gaze skip over their faces and slide away before he can meet either of theirs.

The urge to hide himself away from them has him pull up his shoulders and slouch, but that’s all he allows himself.

Toni reaches up to squeeze his shoulder, before she steps away towards her bike, raising that hand as she goes in a small wave. “See you tomorrow.”

He doesn’t watch her leave, doesn’t want to see the look on her face. Just stands there with his eyes firmly on the dry patch of grass and dirt at his feet as he waits for the raw, bruised feeling in his chest to subside again. He feels horribly lost.

When Fangs is gone as well and Sweet Pea turns to walk up the handful of steps to his trailer and unlock the door, Jughead follows him quietly, a feeling as if walking on cotton wrapped tightly around him, steps inside after Sweet Pea and tries not to flinch when the door falls shut behind them.

~*~*~

Jughead takes a deep, shuddering breath, then moves to lift the strap of his school bag from across his chest and set it down next to the bathroom door, without looking up to see what Sweet Pea is doing. Then he shrugs out of his jacket and drops that onto his bag, for lack of a better option. Tries hard not to flinch when the light gets flicked on and he can hear Sweet Pea start to rummage around in the kitchen cupboards.

Moving to take a careful seat on the edge of Sweet Pea’s bed, Jughead bends down to untie his boots and, once he’s slipped out of them, pushes them underneath where Sweet Pea’d kept them before. There’s something strangely soothing about keeping order, about things having a place where they belong and making sure that’s where they end up. It helps to uphold the numbness that has wrapped itself around him like a soft, cottony shield. A detachment he’s so very afraid to break.

Steeling himself with another deep inhale, Jughead finally musters the will to look up to where Sweet Pea is standing, the door of the fridge open as he peers inside in search of something.

“I think we should talk.” Jughead manages to make himself say, feeling almost like a guest in his own body, like a silent audience to the scene unfolding before him. His voice is hoarse and it cracks on the last syllable, but at least he got the words out at all. Sweet Pea stops his motions and straightens up to glance over at him, his brows furrowed in a small frown, pale and drawn as he still seems.

“Yeah.” Sweet Pea says, his shoulders going stiff and Jughead sees the sigh move through his body more than he hears it. “Food first, though.” He adds and turns back towards the fridge, pulling out some kind of packaged ground meat. Then continues to ignore Jughead as he gathers more ingredients for what looks to be a meal you have to actually work for instead of the instant mac and cheese packs or canned soups Jughead is used to making for himself. But it’s what Sweet Pea’s been doing whenever there hadn’t been take-out, actually cooking for them.

Jughead wouldn’t even know where to start. He sits watching Sweet Pea slice onions and tomatoes for a bit, his hands digging into the side of the mattress he’s sitting on. Clenching and unclenching restlessly, feeling out the texture of it, the firmness, trying to distract himself with it, but the result is poor with how on edge he feels, with how bad his nerves are around that bubbling pit of dread in his stomach that the numbness cannot dull down enough. Unable to take it any longer, Jughead finally gets up and stalks over to Sweet Pea’s dresser stiffly, grabbing a fresh set of clothes. He might as well take a shower and make use of the time it’ll take Sweet Pea to cook. It’s better than sitting around waiting and driving himself crazy, at least. Maybe it’ll be enough to keep himself from fucking losing it again.

~*~*~

Jughead emerges from the bathroom in clean clothes at least, hair still wet underneath his beanie and the gauze and tape gone from the back of his neck to give the wound a chance to breathe a little. The skin around it still looks red and angry, but he thinks the salve Dr. Curdle gave him his helping a little. It’s managed to take the edge off of the deep ache of the bite mark somewhat. He doesn’t feel any better than he did before, not really, nerves still thrumming with tension as he moves, but at least showering helped the time pass a little more quickly, and he can see that Sweet Pea is just in the process of setting the table.

Sitting down to eat with Sweet Pea seems almost domestic in a sick, twisted sort of way and Jughead can’t help but hate it just as much as he hates everything else about this. Viciously, violently and _hopelessly_. He grits his teeth and makes himself do it anyway, his stomach more than up for the prospect of food, regardless of his state of mind. It’s pasta with some sort of tomato sauce with the ground meat in it. Surprisingly good for all it’s worth. Just one more things Jughead can add to the list of things he now despises.

He hurries to finish his plate, hardly pausing to chew as he does so, washing it all down with the tall glass of juice Sweet Pea’s set on the table next to his plate for him. And after, he sits in his chair with his hands fiddling stiffly with the hem of his t-shirt, his knee jittery and bouncing restlessly beneath the table as he waits for Sweet Pea to finish his food as well. Torn between wanting him to hurry the fuck up and wanting him to slow down even more so that Jughead might somehow avoid having to do this. The idea of what ‘this’ is going to be half-formed in his mind, the space around it tender like an open wound around a live explosive device, ready to go off and tear what’s left of him to pieces.

He’s going to survive this, he has to, the only question is how much of himself he’ll have to lose in order to do it.

Finally, with an irritated sigh, Sweet Pea sets down his fork and slowly turns in his seat until he’s facing Jughead, his eyes dark and intent as they bore into Jughead’s own. With how small the fucking table is they’re so close that their knees are almost touching, that Jughead can almost imagine that he can feel the warmth of Sweet Pea’s body seeping into his skin through the denim of his jeans. He bites back harshly on the sudden, violent urge to move away, to push his chair across the worn carpet until the distance between them is one that no longer feels stifling.

When Jughead opens his mouth to say something, though, Sweet Pea pushes himself up out of his chair noisily, the plastic creaking with the harshness of his movement and Jughead flinches, taken by surprise, his own chair complaining the treatment. Sweet Pea picks up his plate with jerky motions, then Jughead’s. Gathers up their empty glasses and carries the dishes over to the kitchen area, where he can place them into the sink. They clatter loudly as he does so, the force with which Sweet Pea handles them almost enough to shatter, but not quite.

Then Sweet Pea turns around again, but instead of coming back to the table, he props his hip against the kitchen counter, hands coming to wrap around its edge at his sides, something restless and angry flickering in his eyes. “You wanted to talk, so talk.” Sweet Pea growls and Jughead feels his mouth go dry at his tone, has to swallow thickly around it before he manages to speak.

“I-” Jughead starts clumsily, not even entirely sure yet what to say, _how_ to say it. But he flinches again, when Sweet Pea huffs out another angry, frustrated breath, the material of the counter groaning under his tightening grip, and cuts Jughead off.

“You know I don’t actually want to hurt you, right?” Sweet Pea’s voice sounds so strained, so angry, it’s almost like a physical thing as the words impact. They make everything inside of Jughead go rigid and hot, that explosive anger of his threatening to go off in a fit of thoughtless fireworks, but Sweet Pea isn’t finished, yet, and Jughead doesn’t get a word in. “I _hate_ it, actually. And I don’t understand why you won’t stop fighting me every fucking step of the way. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a challenge just as much as the next guy, but this is fucking ridiculous. You _like_ it, when I touch you. Or at least your body does. I can see it, taste it, smell it. It’s so obvious. Pretending like you don’t is killing you and you still – I don’t get it. Yeah, it’s fucked-up the way it all went down. But it’s not like fighting it is going to change that. You just keep hurting yourself, like your suffering is somehow going to save you.”

“You took away my _choice_!” Jughead bursts out, incredulous, the edges of his vision tinted red, his pulse rushing in his ears so loudly it almost drowns out Sweet Pea’s voice. He’s glad he’s still sitting, because the dizziness rushing in and making his head swim is enough to have him dig his fingers into the edges of the chair just to keep his seat. “ _How did you fucking expect me to react_?”

“So what do you want me to do, huh?” Sweet Pea shoots back, specks of gold glinting in his eyes, dim still, but plenty enough to highlight his emotional state as he raises his arms at his sides. “Apologize?” He spits the word out like it’s an insult and all that does is make the anger and the hurt in Jughead’s chest flare hotter.

“That would be a fucking start, yeah.” Jughead bites out, venom thick in his voice, his shoulders hunched up but his chin raised defiantly.

“OK, sure.” Sweet Pea lets his arms drop and winces, his face pulling tight as if the motion pulled at something painful, but he doesn’t let himself be deterred, his tone angry and derisive as he continues to speak. “How about ‘I’m sorry for liking you’, or maybe ‘I’m sorry for being a fucking monster’? ‘I’m sorry for the fact that you liked me back without knowing what I was’, or ‘I’m sorry that you completely fucking ignored all of the warnings you got from the people trying to protect you and decided to walk head first into your own doom’. ‘I’m sorry for liking that I was able to knock you off of your high horse and twist your arrogance back on you’. Do those sound any better? But it doesn’t really matter what I say anyway, does it? None of that is going to change anything. What happened happened and if you don’t find a way to fucking live with that you’re going to end up killing yourself!”

“You’re such a fucking _asshole_!” And Jughead hates himself for how his voice wavers, for how something inside of him flinches at the volume of it. He hates himself for the tears that are burning at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over, for the deep, dark, heavy sense of despair rising up within him and starting to blot out the rage. For the way he can feel himself curl forward and sink into himself, when all he wants is to stand tall and fight back.

“Yeah.” Sweet Pea says, bitterness thick on his tongue as his shoulders drop and his mouth pulls into a sneer. “An ‘asshole’, whose been doing everything he can think of to try and make shit easier for you, no matter what it’s taking out of me. Right down to wearing this fucking thing.”

Sweet Pea grabs the hem of his t-shirt and starts to pull it up to uncover his chest, and once it’s tucked underneath his chin, Jughead sucks in a sharp breath and he finally gets why Sweet Pea’s been acting weird and looking so pale and drawn ever since they got back from Dr. Curdle’s. Jughead can feel his eyes go wide as he stares at the damage and he sucks in a quiet breath, hands digging into the sides of the seat of his chair harder in a futile attempt to keep himself grounded.

He was right in suspecting that the leather strap around Sweet Pea’s neck, next to the chain of his solitary dog tag, is connected to an amulet similar to his own. A small black stone, shaped vaguely like a rough-edged drop of water, rests at the center of Sweet Pea’s chest, glinting sharply in the overhead light. Instead of a latticework of black veins snaking outward from it, like it does on Jughead’s chest, though, the skin around the amulet on Sweet Pea looks horrible. Red and swollen and blistered, like a really bad burn. Marked off in an unnaturally perfect circle that spans out across more than half of his chest.

Jughead vaguely remembers the taste of blood in his mouth and Sweet Pea’s angry red lips.

If Sweet Pea’s amulet is meant to do the same thing as Jughead’s, to block the magic of the mating bond, or maybe just to block magic in general, it’s no wonder Sweet Pea’s been in pain, even though he’s done a lot to try and hide it. Is it going to get worse the longer Sweet Pea wears it? How much worse? What exactly is that thing doing to him?

Jughead feels dizzy all over again. He shudders in his seat, a tightly furled fist clenching in his gut and twisting.

Sweet Pea lets go of his shirt and it drops to cover him back up. Brows furrowed and mouth pulled into a thin line, Sweet Pea pushes away from the counter and slowly walks over to where Jughead is sitting, until they’re so close that Jughead has to crane his neck to keep meeting his gaze. Feeling much too vulnerable like this, everything inside of him pulling taught, Jughead scrambles up onto his feet clumsily, kicking the chair over in the process, and it clatters loudly as it tumbles to the floor behind him. Neither he nor Sweet Pea pay it any mind.

“It’s… been making it easier to control my instincts, at least. It doesn’t cancel them out completely, but it makes it easier to think more clearly. The time between the bond being initiated and between it settling is… not great. It’s all _want_ and _heat_ and a pull so strong it _hurts_. Everything’s heightened and restless and so much worse than it normally is.” Sweet Pea says, his voice low and soft and strangely desperate, the heat and the anger from before drained out of it, and he raises one of his hands slowly, as if not to spook Jughead. Reaches out and flattens his palm against the center of Jughead’s chest where his own amulet rests beneath his shirt and Jughead sucks in a quiet breath through his teeth, just so manages not to jerk away, his heart racing wildly.

“What the amulets are doing isn’t going to last, though. You know that.” Sweet Pea goes on, Jughead’s amulet slowly beginning to warm up under his palm. There’s something raw in Sweet Pea’s eyes, some unspoken plea, and Jughead can’t bring himself to look away, pinned by it like an insect with a needle through its chest. Sweet Pea’s other hand settles on Jughead’s shoulders, his fingers grazing the side of Jughead’s neck, brushing the edge of the bite mark just so, and Jughead can feel his chest seize up and his lungs freeze as a hot, tinging sensation crawls down his spine.

“I can make it easier for you.” Sweet Pea says, leaning down slowly. “All you have to do is _let_ me. Open up and accept it. You know it can feel good. You’re body’s already there. Trust it to know what you need.”

Sweet Pea’s breath is hot as it puffs across Jughead’s lips. The sensation shivery and strange, making his gut twist and flutter and his shoulders pull up, his hands balling into white-knuckled fists at his sides until his fingers ache. His own breaths are harsh and panting, his heart hammering against the inside of his ribs right where Sweet Pea’s palm is resting. Dread so thick he can taste it, bitter and vile. Jughead darts out his tongue to wet his lips, otherwise frozen to the spot, and then Sweet Pea’s lips are on his, hot and pliable, and Jughead makes a noise in the back of his throat, high and scared.

It’s not like before, hard and desperate and merciless. Sweet Pea’s lips are soft as they move against his, careful and searching, and he can feel the shudder run through Sweet Pea’s body as Sweet Pea pushes closer, a hot gust of breath blowing out through his nose. His body locked as it is, unable to move, to think, Jughead stands motionless under Sweet Pea’s touch, his head swimming violently. Sweet Pea deepens the kiss, presses in harder, and his tongue darts out to drag across Jughead’s bottom lip, hot and slick in a way that has Jughead desperately sucking in air through his nose, his hands jerking up to fist into the sides of Sweet Pea’s shirt. Twisting the material up until it strains.

The hand on Jughead’s chest slips to the side and down, then back, until Sweet Pea’s got his arm wrapped around Jughead’s waist, pulling them chest to chest and making Jughead arch his neck further. The amulet heats up against his skin, sending a dangerous tingle through him, but that’s not the only heat he can feel. Especially when Sweet Pea’s tongue pushes past his lips, his teeth, and into his mouth and Jughead fucking _lets_ him.

It feels surreal, like he’s caught in some kind of fever dream, Sweet Pea’s tongue hot and searching against his own, trying to coax him into the kiss, and Jughead gasps and whines, shuddering harshly in the circle of Sweet Pea’s embrace. Sweet Pea’s palm snakes from his shoulder to the back of his neck, carefully covering the bite mark there, heat flaring up and rushing outward, and the amulet feels almost like a brand now, like it’s searing his skin where it rests, and it’s all too much.

Sweet Pea’s lips on his, Sweet Pea’s tongue in his mouth, the taste of him thick and strong, Sweet Pea’s body, firm and hot, pressed up against Jughead’s, Sweet Pea’s hands on him, the fever and the hesitant flicker of pleasure starting to light up low in his belly. The dizziness and the fog in his head, the cold fist of fear and dread, of bone deep terror twisting in his gut like a trapped, frantic animal, and he just – _can’t_. Somewhere in the midst of it he runs face first into a wall in his head that has him stagger and reel and there’s no way he can go any further.

He feels Sweet Pea hum softly into the kiss, trying to be soothing, his hand beginning to tighten on the back of Jughead’s neck, moving to press down, and that’s the last straw, the fear that spikes at the sensation so harsh it pushes the air right out of his lungs. He jerks violently against Sweet Pea’s grip, gets just far enough to be able to break the kiss.

“Wait!” He presses out desperately, his heart hammering in his chest so hard he can feel it thrumming in the tips of his fingers, panic thick and ugly as it envelops him, hands moving up to Sweet Pea’s chest to try and push at him and it makes Sweet Pea hiss in a pained breath. “Wait, wait – _please_ , I-“

Sweet Pea blows out a shaky breath and his hands fall away from Jughead, almost taking him by surprise, allowing him to take a couple of steps back, to put distance between them until it feels like Jughead can breathe again. Until his throat opens up and his head feels light with the sudden rush of oxygen. He can sense Sweet Pea’s gaze on him and Jughead presses his trembling hands against the closed lids of his eyes until they ache and gray spots start do dance across the black. Fighting the urge to curl in on himself and hide himself away with all he’s got left.

After a moment, though, feeling only the tiniest bit steadier, Jughead forces himself to pull his hands away from his eyes and look up at Sweet Pea again. There’s some harsh emotion twisting Sweet Pea’s features, but he doesn’t make a move to come after Jughead and Jughead is endlessly grateful for that much.

“I just – I need more time.” Jughead says, his voice pleading and desperate and he watches as Sweet Pea’s mouth pulls into a thin, bloodless line, his gaze slipping away from Jughead.

“Yeah.” Sweet Pea finally answers, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, or to chase after the taste on them perhaps, as his eyes flicker back up to meet Jughead’s. “Alright. Just remember that ‘time’ is something you – _we_ don’t have a lot left of.”

“I know.” Jughead breathes out a shuddering gust of air, a thick lump climbing up into his throat and his eyes burning harshly. He wipes the sleeve of his checkered shirt across his cheeks clumsily, but they grow wet again right after, his chest hitching with each stupid breath.

He hates everything about this so fucking much, Sweet Pea most of all. Or at least he _wants_ to. But the truth is, the longer he’s stuck in this, the weaker he can feel his hold on that anger and hate growing, the more he can feel it wear him down, drain away his resolve like water from a leaky bucket. Dragging at his defenses, at the walls he’s taken so much care to build up around himself in order to protect himself. And the bitter truth is that he’ll have to help tear them down in the end. There’s no escaping it, there are no other options. That’s been proven to him more than clearly enough by now, in a way that even he and his stubbornness can no longer deny.

Sweet Pea starts to reach out for him, his face twisted into a pained grimace, but when Jughead winces at the motion, Sweet Pea catches himself and lets his arm drop back to his side with a weary sigh. “I’m going to go take a shower.” He finally mumbles, then turns to gather his things.

Jughead stands there watching him until the door to the bathroom closes after him softly. Only then does he allow himself to stumble backwards until the wall hits his spine, and then slide down along it. He pulls his knees up to his chest and folds his arms over them so that he can bury his face against his sleeves. Jughead sits there crying for a long time, until the tears eventually stop of their own accord. Lets all of it drain out of him unhindered, no more shame left in him. Because he’s done trying to keep it together. What use is there in continuing to pretend?

~*~*~

By the time the door to the bathroom opens again and Sweet Pea comes out wearing a t-shirt and a comfortable looking pair of sweatpants, his damp hair combed away from his forehead and his cheeks a little reddened from the shower, Jughead has managed to calm himself down as much as he’s able. He’s all cried for now, and the only thing that’s left is a bruised ache deep in his chest and a strange sense of hollowness around it.

Jughead wipes at his eyes one more time, puffy and irritated as they are, and then makes himself get up off of the floor. It takes more effort than it should and he can’t help the groan that slips from his throat as he does so. His gaze locked on the ground, Jughead does his best to make his stiff legs cooperate, to make them move. He brushes past Sweet Pea and heads into the bathroom himself without looking up.

Jughead makes the mistake of glancing into the mirror, and the sight does nothing to make him feel any better, pathetic and defeated. His eyes are swollen and red-rimmed over splotchy, flushed cheeks, the skin underneath sickly pale. Gaze dull and resigned, and he looks away again quickly. Doesn’t let himself fall into that trap again as he brushes his teeth mechanically. Once he’s done, he splashes a couple handfuls of cold water onto his face and hopes for the fucking best. It doesn’t make him feel any more himslef, but it’s still better than nothing at all.

~*~*~

It’s still early, only around 8 pm or something, but Jughead’s so fucking tired. All he wants to do is lay down and close his eyes and not think or function for as long as he can manage.

When he comes back out of the bathroom, Sweet Pea is sitting cross-legged on the foot end of the mattress, with a magazine open in his lap. High gloss images of tuned up motorcycles glinting in the low light of the lamp on Sweet Pea’s dresser, the overhead light switched off. Sweet Pea glances up at him and Jughead takes a moment to try and figure out what to do next. His eyes land on the mattress, the messy pile of pillows and the blanket on it.

Sweet Pea slept on the floor last night just to give him space, barefoot and pale. He’s wearing that stupid amulet even though it’s really hurting him. And he didn’t try to force Jughead earlier, when Jughead asked him to stop. It’s hard to really believe in that change, hard to believe that it will last. Because Jughead has felt oh so intimately what Sweet Pea is really capable of. Just the thought makes his breath catch and his lungs seize up. But at the same time the weariness settled deep in his bones pulls at him so strongly it seems impossible to resist.

Before he can think about it too much, Jughead makes himself move again, his breath held as he sets his knees down onto the mattress, feels the soft dip of it as he crawls along its width and then flops down on it with his back pressed against the wall firmly. Only then, when a careful glance show’s that Sweet Pea hasn’t moved – all he’s doing is watching, eyes dark in the low light, but shoulders loose – does Jughead start to breathe again. He stuffs a pillow under his head and lets his lead-heavy eyelids slip shut, a part of him still acutely aware of Sweet Pea’s position on the bed.

His jeans are stiff and a bit uncomfortable, but he doesn’t take them off. Jughead got used to sleeping in his clothes when he was homeless, and he’ll cling to whatever barriers he can put between himself and the rest of the world, now more than ever.

He’d kind of thought he’d have trouble falling asleep, despite how tired he is, but the heaviness inside of him pulls him under with a strength he has nothing to hold against. One moment he’s concentrating on inhaling, on the air expanding his lungs and the scent of Sweet Pea on the pillow underneath his check, lulling him in, and the next he’s gone, lost to the world as he drifts aimlessly in the dark void of unconsciousness.

~*~*~

Jughead jerks awake in the dark with a hand clamped tightly over his mouth, his heart racing frantically. Sweet Pea’s face is hovering over his, pulled tight with urgency and one finger pressed over his lips to indicate quiet. Jughead struggles against his hold for a blurry second, Sweet Pea’s hand on him tightening in response, before his sleep-addled mind catches up with him and he lets himself sink back into the cushions, eyes wide and questioning.

“Something’s wrong.” Sweet Pea whispers urgently, gold shining in his irises like flames behind stained glass. “Someone’s here. Don’t move and be quiet.”

With that Sweet Pea’s hand slips away from his mouth and Jughead sucks in a panicky breath, trying to wrap his head around what the fuck is going on, his head still stuck in the fog of sleep. He pushes himself into a sitting position on the mattress, the blanket he doesn’t remember pulling over himself slipping down to pool at his hips as Sweet Pea steps away from the bed on silent feet. His head canted and his brows furrowed in concentration, as if listening for something, nostrils flaring wide. The beast flickering through sharply.

Sweet Pea’s frown deepens as he moves towards the door to the trailer, Jughead straining his ears and struggling to figure out what it is that Sweet Pea is hearing, heart fluttering in his chest in a panic he can’t quite explain, but he catches nothing aside from his own labored breathing. His human ears not sharp enough to pick up on whatever it is that has Sweet Pea so alert.

Sweet Pea takes another careful step towards the door, his hands shaped into claws at his sides and his hackles raised to bare his teeth.

Then, without the slightest hint of warning, the world explodes into light and sound as the door detaches from its hinges and is propelled at Sweet Pea with enough force to knock him all the way against the wall at the other side of the trailer. Eyes flashing with after images and ears ringing from the volume of the blow, shock settled deep into his bones, Jughead flattens his spine against the wall at his back, too stunned to do anything else.

Something small and dark comes flying into the trailer and rolls across the carpet just as Sweet Pea pushes the door off of himself with a low groan and tries to heave himself back to his feet. For a second, Jughead thinks frantically that he should close his eyes and cover his ears in anticipation of another explosion, but before he has a chance to move, the thing on the floor gives a soft plop followed by a steady hissing sound as milky gas starts to billow from it. Filling up the inside of the trailer with an alarming speed.

Jughead can hear Sweet Pea call his name, dull through the ringing in his ears, like he’s got wads of cotton stuffed into them, just as the smoke reaches him and seeps into his lungs. It’s thick and biting and his eyes tear up as he breaks into a coughing fit, struggling to breathe around it. He hears another rustle of movement and then something arches through the air in front of him, in through the gaping doorway, a streak of silver shooting towards where Jughead saw Sweet Pea last. There’s the sound of an impact and a grunt that’s as much surprise as it is pain, followed by something heavy hitting the floor with a dull thud, hard enough to make the structure of the trailer shudder with it.

Eyes leaking and coughing so hard he’s nearly folded in half on the mattress, head swimming with the lack of oxygen as he desperately tries to move, to crawl forward and figure out what the fuck just happened, he sees a swirl of black and crimson move through the thick smoke in front of him. The contours of a blood-red hood and cape blurring in front of his eyes as he collapses onto the mattress helplessly fighting for air that isn’t coming.

He tries to reach out, to say something as a face that’s familiar but that his frantic, panicking brain won’t connect to the right memory, appears above him and then, all at once like a heavy curtain falling, everything fades to black.

~*~*~


	7. Chapter Seven Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how long it took me to update this time! Things in rl have been crazy for some time now and I did what I could, but alas, this is how it turned out.
> 
> As you may have taken away from the chapter title, this is only the first part of what was supposed to be chapter seven. I did a small survey over on my [Tumblr](https://yukichouji.tumblr.com/) to see whether people would prefer I post what I have now, thereby splitting the chapter, or to finish it first and then post, which would have taken me a while longer, no doubt. This way, the half-chapter ends with another cliffhanger. If you'd like to avoid that, you can still just wait for the next update and read it all in one go, though :)
> 
> This chapter has some new warnings that go along with it. Since they're spoilery, I put them in the end notes. So, you can either check those out or take a look at the tags, if you want to be on the safe side with it.
> 
> Now, enough of my babbling. I hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> A huge thank you for your invaluable help goes to [serpenthair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentheir/pseuds/serpentheir) and [thegiggleatafuneral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegiggleatafuneral/pseuds/thegiggleatafuneral)! You are both amazing and I have no idea what I'd do without you!

~*~*~

The first thing Jughead notices as his consciousness slowly begins to trickle back into him is the vicious burning sensation that flares up in his lungs with every inhale and the raw feel of his throat. Right after comes the duller, but no less persistent ache that thrums through the rest of his body, accumulating and peaking harshly in his head, and the cold chill that’s seeped into his body through the hard ground he’s lying on. He groans and tries to move, but can’t.

His first reaction to that is a bright-hot flare of panic, mindlessly struggling against whatever it is that’s constricting him, but after a moment, he manages to get a grip and calm himself down enough to figure out what the hell it is that’s keeping him pinned. His heart racing in his chest, Jughead takes a moment to feel the hard ground beneath him, rough and uneven where his cheek and his palms are resting against it, lying on his stomach. With a warm, heavy weight draped across his side and part of his back, effectively pinning him down. A weight that’s _breathing_.

Jughead blinks his eyes open, squints them against the harsh glare of the overhead lights and has to wait a few seconds for his vision to adjust, then tries carefully to turn his head to the other side so that he can see what’s weighing him down. Only to find Sweet Pea’s face right there next to his own, deathly pale and drawn into a pained grimace, Sweet Pea’s body curled around Jughead’s like a shield, and it’s only then that Jughead registers the feeling of something wet and warm and sticky having soaked through the left shoulder of his shirt and t-shirt.

And when he twists a bit more to glance down at it, Jughead can see the thick crimson pool of blood congealing on the naked stone floor around his shoulder and beneath Sweet Pea’s side. A wide trail of it leading across Sweet Pea’s shirt where Jughead can just see a wide circular shape soaked into the gray fabric, centered around a tear in it right where Sweet Pea’s collarbone flows into the joint of his shoulder.

The scent of the blood is cloying and thick and Jughead has no idea how he didn’t notice it sooner, nausea rising sharply.

His eyes going wide, the fear in his gut twisting tighter and sending a horrible chill through his body, Jughead tries to get his elbows underneath himself, to get the leverage he needs to move, to see how bad the wound really is, to figure the hell out where they are. But his right wrist only moves an inch or so before it catches on something, the faint rattle of chains loud in the otherwise eerie quiet of this place. Jughead twists his head around again, face scrunched up in confusion, only to find a wide metal shackle circling tightly around his wrist over the sleeve of his shirt, connected to a heavy looking chain with thick links that lead up to the wall until about halfway to the ceiling – maybe around where Jughead’s shoulders would be, if he were standing – where it’s anchored to a big metal ring set firmly into the concrete wall.

Glinting polished and silvery in the too-bright lighting.

Before all of that can really sink into his addled mind, though, before he can even try to make sense of it, a sound from the other side of the room draws Jughead’s attention and he lets his eyes snap over to the source. There in the arched, metal-framed doorway, leading into a hall so dimly lit Jughead can barely make anything of it out other than the presence of more gray concrete, stands a figure tall and regal as she glances down at him along the soft line of her nose, painfully familiar.

“Cheryl?” Jughead croaks, his voice rough and unpleasant, and he flinches when Sweet Pea growls and shifts against his side, then settles again and stays as quiet and motionless as before, aside from his shaky breathing.

“So you’re awake then.” Cheryl says coolly, her arms folded across her stomach and one eyebrow arched condescendingly. She’s wearing a tight-fitting getup of dull black leather with hints of crimson streaked into the fabric as highlights here and there, a deep-red, hooded cape hanging from her shoulders and down halfway across her back. And when Jughead lets his eyes wander for a moment, he can see a thick leather belt wrapped around her hips, weighed down at one side by a wooden crossbow almost as long as her thigh, the metal sides of its bow folded in to make it more compact.

Yeah, that’s Cheryl fucking Blossom, no doubt about it, but not a version Jughead’s ever seen before. Even her posture is different than the one she adapts at school, one that speaks of strength and competence, less the feminine lordliness and arrogance he’s used to and more the practiced self-confidence of someone who’s spent their entire life learning how to fight. The difference is so disconcerting that it makes Jughead’s head swim precariously and for a second he’s almost tempted to believe that perhaps this isn’t Cheryl at all, perhaps this is a hidden triplet, kept secret within the dark bowels of the late Thornhill manor all this time.

But that’s stupid, of course, Jughead’s muddled mind is playing tricks on him. Although, then again, he hardly feels qualified to decide what does or doesn’t make sense anymore in this new, frightening world he’s been thrust into so harshly. He grits his teeth and tries hard to pull himself together. Does his best to make his voice sound sure and demanding instead of scared and small when he speaks again. He only partially succeeds.

“What the hell is going on? Where are we?” He presses out, trying to shift his shoulder a little to alleviate some of Sweet Pea’s weight and make it a bit easier to breathe. But all that does is make Sweet Pea growl again and the arm Sweet Pea’s got draped over Jughead’s lower back tightens in warning. So he settles down and gives up for now, bites back harshly on the new, slow-burning, skin-crawling flow of panic that tries to settle in his chest and reach its greedy fingers outward to envelop the rest of him.

‘Breathe through it, concentrate on what matters’, Jughead tries to tell himself, his eyes firmly on the figure in front of him. God, he has no fucking clue what’s gong on, but he can still tell that this is bad.

Cheryl huffs out a derisive breath and her eyes narrow as her gaze pins him down cruelly, and, yeah, that _definitely_ is the Cheryl he knows. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough, emo Oliver Twist. I think mumsy will want to be the one doing the explaining, though. She’ll be delighted to hear that you’re awake. Even if your not-so-little wolfy friend isn’t, yet.”

With that, before Jughead has the chance to actually process her words and form a reply of some sort, she spins around and reaches to the side, her bright red curls arcing through the air in an elegant curve as she does so. Then she proceeds to pull at a door that looks like it’s made out of at least 6 inches of solid metal until it slots into the frame with a soft groan, the unmistakable click of a lock engaging following suit. Leaving Jughead alone with Sweet Pea in what can only be described as a fucking cell.

Jughead can crane his neck just enough to make out four windowless concrete walls, a rough stone floor, almost like that of a cave, but not quite, and two very bright, naked light bulbs attached to the concrete ceiling. When he looks more closely, he can see other rings set into the walls all around the room, and some of them into the floor and ceiling, even, but none of them have chains attached like the one he’s bound to. In one corner, just close enough for him to reach, if he stretches out his unchained arm, he thinks, there’s an old, rusted metal bucket. Sitting there all on its own. He can’t really see if it’s empty, but he has a horrible, sneaking suspicion what it might be for and God he hopes they’re not going to be here long enough to actually have to use it.

Doing his best to take away his mind from that particular unpleasant thought, he squints his eyes harder, gaze caught by a strange shadow on the stone. And suddenly Jughead can see that the difference in shades of gray isn’t due to the light playing tricks on him, but rather an intricate web of symbols and circles of different sizes scattered across all surfaces of the room. Though Jughead can’t even begin to guess at what they mean or what they’re meant to do. Even the door is covered in them. Other than that, though, what he can see of the cell seems to be completely empty.

This is all wrong, none of it makes any fucking sense, the drowsiness and the confusion making his head spin, and he can’t fucking think, not with Sweet Pea lying half on top of him, weighing him down, making him feel trapped in the worst kind of way. The sharp mindless panic that goes along with that thought spikes harshly, knocking his breath right out of his lungs and closing up his throat now that all other distractions are gone. With his heart racing against his ribs and the amulet on his chest beginning to sting as it grows heated, Jughead twists around clumsily, shoving at Sweet Pea’s still form with shaky hands. Jughead manages to pull his shoulder out from under Sweet Pea and roll onto his side, Sweet Pea’s weight dropping away from him, air rushing sharp and cool into his lungs and making them ache.

But before he can get any farther than that, Sweet Pea stirs, a harsh growl vibrating low in his throat and the arm he’s got slung over Jughead’s waist tightens suddenly, hard enough to punch a pained gasp out of Jughead as he starts to squirm against the hold. The arm tightens again, Jughead’s ribs creaking dangerously beneath the uncaring strength of it, the growl growing harsher in an unmistakable warning and when Sweet Pea turns his face to look at Jughead, his eyes are pure gold, hot and angry. The eyes of the wolf, not of the man, Jughead thinks, sharp panic seizing his muscles as his blood runs cold in his veins, laying there frozen beneath that gaze. The sense of prey staring right into the face of a violent death.

Sweet Pea tries to push himself up with his free arm, putting weight on his injured shoulder, and a stark flash of pain and incomprehension races across his features, a wounded sound cutting off the growl as his arm refuses to bear his weight and he collapses back onto the ground. Jughead tries again, desperately, to squirm out of his grasp, hoping to make the distraction work for him, but all that gets him is Sweet Pea’s fingers digging into his spine harshly enough to draw another gasp from him, heat and ache blooming outwards.

Sweet Pea’s hand fists into Jughead’s shirt, pulling the material taut and backwards, the neckline of his t-shirt digging into his throat uncomfortably, cutting off part of his airflow. Then Sweet Pea starts to move again, pained sounds mixing in with his low growl as he does so, this time instinctively accommodating to the impairment of his shoulder as he uses his grip on Jughead’s shirt to pull Jughead onto his back. Breath coming in harsh little pants and panic clouding up his mind Jughead tires to fight him, but it’s absolutely useless, it’s like trying to push against a fucking boulder, even as Jughead’s chained wrists gets pulled backward over his head by the movement, his spine curving upward through the uncomfortable press of Sweet Pea’s fist trapped between his back and the hard ground.

Then Sweet Pea’s weight draping over him again, as Sweet Pea crawls onto him, movements jerky and mindless until he’s covering Jughead’s front completely, curling into Jughead and pressing his face into the crook of Jughead’s neck with a pitiful whine. Jughead’s wrist tugs harshly against the wide cuff, metal pressing into his skin, as his free hand fists into Sweet Pea’s t-shirt over the uninjured shoulder, desperately trying to push him away and failing. He can feel Sweet Pea’s body slot in between his thighs, covering him like a heavy, highly muscled blanked, body-heat stifling and his weight crushing and Jughead feels vulnerable and open and every part of him clenches up in naked fear at the surge of memories flooding into him unbidden.

His heart is racing so quickly he thinks it might burst, airflow constricted enough to make him feel dizzy and lightheaded as Sweet Pea nuzzles his neck and inhales deeply with another whine, lips and hot breath brushing the soft skin with a horrible, ticklish sensation. And then, all at once, Sweet Pea’s body goes lax on top of him, the fist digging painfully into Jughead’s spine unfurling and taking away some of the pressure, sliding up to the back of Jughead’s head until Sweet Pea’s cradling him close. Careful now, as if handling something precious, Sweet Pea’s breathing evening out, going from harsh, pained puffs of heat to a soft, deep rhythm as he keeps breathing Jughead in. The proximity calming him.

Jughead does his best to force himself to hold still and endure, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes and chest rising and falling harshly with the frantic beat of his heart. Because that’s the best he can do right now, reason warring with blind panic inside of him. But Sweet Pea’s not moving any more, he’s just holding him, using Jughead as an anchor. Because he’s hurt and _scared_ , Jughead realizes with a jolt, and that can’t be a good thing for a werewolf, not with the way his eyes had looked just a second ago. And Jughead thinks that the way he’s half-tied to Sweet Pea right now probably just saved his fucking life. He doesn’t even want to think about what Sweet Pea in this state might have done to someone he’d perceive as a threat right now.

Which is a little ironic, given the fact that Jughead very probably wouldn’t be here at all in the first place if it weren’t for Sweet Pea and this whole fucked up situation. Because he’s got the sneaking suspicion that Sweet Pea’s the actual target here, not him. This whole fucking cell looks entirely too weird and ‘magic-y’ to be meant for a regular human, not to mention that Jughead can’t for the life of him think of a reason someone would want to fucking kidnap _him_ of all people. Why the fuck Cheryl Blossom and her mother would have access to something like this or what on earth they want with Sweet Pea is beyond him, though. He’s got so many fucking questions right now it’s borderline painful.

But at least thinking about that helps distract him from the way Sweet Pea’s body is pressing down against his, the heat of him seeping through their clothes and into Jughead slowly, his amulet thrumming against his chest and warming to the point of discomfort. The feel of Sweet Pea’s fingers carding through his hair where Sweet Pea’s palm is cupping the back of his head and the fact that his beanie isn’t there to buffer the sensation. He needs that distraction so fucking badly right now. It helps him ignore the way his chest is hitching and his eyes are burning, the fear and aversion crawling thick and insistent beneath his skin. Even worse, the thing he wants to acknowledge least of all, that tentative softening beneath it all, that quiet, hesitant question at the back of his mind, the traitorous part of himself that wants to lean into Sweet Pea and take what little comfort he can glean. The fact that comfort is even a possibility at all right now, however faint.

Cheryl really ambushed Sweet Pea’s trailer last night, put an arrow through Sweet Pea’s chest and kidnapped the both of them. God, he really needs this to somehow make sense. Because, judging by the chain on his wrist and the fact that he’s in this cell together with Sweet Pea, Jughead suspects that whatever Cheryl is doing, her goal isn’t exactly to help him. But maybe he should worry about that once she’s back. With her mother, Penelope Blossom, of all people. Jughead’s only caught glimpses of her a handful of times, but there’s always been something inexplicably unnerving about that woman. A coldness that would send shivers down his spine and make him think of haunted mansions on lonely hilltops, evil spirits weaving through the tragedies of Gothic novels. Back then, when they’d still been investigating Jason Blossom’s murder, it’d excited him in a morbid sort of way, appealing to the writer in him. But right now, he’s really not as inclined to see it in quite that positive a light.

His breathing finally calming down a bit, though the tight feeling in his chest stays firmly in place, Jughead makes himself return to the here and now, to the problems immediately at hand. Inhaling as deeply as he can like this, to steady himself, Jughead forces his gaze back onto Sweet Pea and he slowly untangles his fingers from the fabric of Sweet Pea’s t-shirt. Because the wetness on the back of his left shoulder is slowly cooling and starting to dry, and there’s still more of that sticky warmth soaking into his shirt over the front of his right shoulder.

Gritting his teeth, nostrils flaring to compensate for the redirected airflow, Jughead moves as slowly and carefully as he can so as to not disturb Sweet Pea again. Reaching for Sweet Pea’s left shoulder where the wound is. It’s awkward because Jughead has to use his left hand and reach across Sweet Pea’s head to do it, but he somehow manages. Jughead pushes against Sweet Pea’s shoulder cautiously and Sweet Pea flinches and whines at the touch, his arms around Jughead tightening in warning. Jughead freezes, his heart skipping a beat before racing back into a frantic rhythm. This is _not_ going to fucking work, he realizes, and grits his teeth against the building frustration.

“Sweet Pea.” Jughead presses out, desperation leaking into his voice as his lungs get compressed again in Sweet Pea’s grip, making it hard to breathe at all. And somehow, to Jughead’s surprise, it actually gets through.

Because Sweet Pea groans and then lifts his head, the eyes that blink open to look at him seeming the tiniest bit clearer than before. The gold in them reduced to a softer flicker behind the brown irises. So Jughead tries again, lungs burning and ribs aching urgently.

“You’re holding me too tightly.” He manages to choke out and he sees a flash of comprehension race across Sweet Pea’s features, before Sweet Pea gives a low, slurred curse and finally loosens his grip. The air that rushes back into Jughead’s lungs is a godsend and he just lies there panting for a moment, trying to get his heart rate back under control.

Sweet Pea groans again and lets his forehead drop down onto Jughead’s collarbone, muscles going stiff as the pain in his shoulder catches up with him.

“What the fuck?” Sweet Pea mutters roughly, the strain in his voice obvious and God, Jughead wishes Sweet Pea would just let go and get off of him so that he’d be able to think clearly again. But it doesn’t really seem like Sweet Pea’s planning on moving anytime soon.

“I’m – can you let me get up?” Jughead says, hating how small he sounds, but unable to do anything about it. Sweet Pea’s hand on the back of Jughead’s head tightens reflexively, fingers digging into Jughead’s scalp in a way that makes him hiss in a breath through his teeth, but then it slowly relaxes again. Jughead can almost sense the effort it takes Sweet Pea to make himself do even that much.

“Are you hurt?” Sweet Pea asks, his voice thick with strain, like he’s fighting some internal battle and finding himself on the losing side, and he’s still bleeding, and it feels like there’s nothing Jughead can do about any of it. Sweet Pea shifts against him, bodies pressed so close Jughead can feel every second of it, pulls his hand out from under Jughead’s head and traces the palm along Jughead’s side, fingers wrapping around the curve of his ribs and pressing down as if to convince himself that Jughead’s still solid and real, still breathing all on his own.

The touch does something unpleasant to Jughead’s stomach, makes it tighten and flutter, unwanted heat a ticklish sensation right underneath his skin.

“I’m OK, I swear, but you have to – you have to let me go.” Jughead bites out the words, fresh panic seeping into them, and Sweet Pea’s gaze snaps up to meet his again, something pained and torn twisting in his eyes. Jughead can see the effort it takes him, painted starkly across his face, when Sweet Pea finally makes himself loosen his grip on Jughead with a throaty groan and uses his free hand to push himself off of Jughead and roll onto his back next to him instead. A string of muttered curses accompanying the motions.

As soon as he can move again, Jughead scrambles up and back, the chain attached to his wrist clinking ominously, until he’s sitting on the ground with his back pressed tightly against the wall, legs pulled up and away from Sweet Pea. Even as a tiny little part of him misses the warmth, misses the contact, and the very dissonance of that is almost enough to send Jughead spiraling again, so he squeezes his eyes shut and does the best he can to not think about it at all. He just takes a moment to focus on breathing and getting a handle on the panic bubbling hotly in his gut. Sits there and concentrates on the solidity of the ground beneath him, the wall at his back, the metal band around his wrist, anything to pull his mind away from the images in his head and the ghosts of touches, skin against skin, unwanted and haunting.

Jughead carefully watches as Sweet Pea, slow and laborious, heaves himself up into a sitting position as well, one hand clamped firmly over the wound in his shoulder and teeth gritted against the pain moving must cause him. After a moment, Sweet Pea lifts his hand away from the wound and starts to tug at the cloth of his t-shirt, trying to peel it back from where it’s soaked through with blood and sticking to his skin. Teeth clenched and expression tight with pain as he does so. He hisses when he finally manages, and from his vantage point Jughead can see that the bleeding seems to have slowed down to a sluggish trickle, which is something, but the wound still looks pretty bad.

“Shit.” Sweet Pea curses, his voice rough and gravelly as he carefully lets go of his shirt and the fabric resettles against his shoulder.

“Aren’t werewolves supposed to have some kind of super-healing or something like that?” Jughead blurts out, his nerves getting the better of him, and desperate to fill the silence around them, to give himself something his mind can grasp more easily. Even if he _still_ feels kind of stupid saying stuff like that, despite everything.

Sweet Pea lifts his gaze to meet Jughead’s, his brows pulling into a frown, taken aback by the question. “Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem.” Sweet Pea grits out, lips pulling back to bare his teeth and Jughead has to fight the urge to try and shrink away from his flaring temper. “But thanks to the fucking amulet, nothing’s working the way it should.”

Oh.

Jughead clenches the muscles in his jaw to keep himself from shooting something unpleasant back that would likely only serve to make things worse. A hot surge of anger twisting around in his gut. This isn’t the time for shit like that, no matter how much he hates to admit it. They’ve got bigger problems on their hands and fighting is going to get them nowhere. Regardless of how tempted he is to drop into it and let the animosity of it wash away everything else, even if just for a little while.

Sweet Pea’s gaze shifts away from Jughead as he looks around to take in the cell in its entirety, his eyes widening and the lines on his face growing harsher as he does so. “Fuck!” Sweet Pea finally grits out, his eyes fixed onto the chain Jughead’s wrist is shackled to the wall by, his own hand coming back up to clutch at his wounded shoulder. “This is fucking bad.”

“I have no idea what’s going on.” Jughead blurts out, not liking the feeling of dread that settles heavier and colder than before into the pit of his stomach at Sweet Pea’s words one bit. He hates not being able to see the full picture. It’s like walking through the dark with your hands outstretched and frantically hoping you don’t trip and break your neck with the next step you take. Sure, he’s a fan of solving mysteries and all that, loves it to a probably slightly unhealthy degree even, but this is something else. Trying to make sense of this new world he’s been thrust into so violently is like trying to finish a jigsaw puzzle without any references and half of the pieces missing. “Can’t you just use your super-strength to get us out of here or something?”

Sweet Pea grits his teeth and huffs out a derisive breath, anger flashing in his eyes before pain takes over as he heaves himself to his feet with a grunt. “Yeah, I’m afraid it’s not going to be that easy.” Sweet Pea grits out, taking a step towards Jughead, tall and imposing, towering over him. His heart racing up into his throat, Jughead suddenly can’t scramble up onto his feet fast enough, just to make himself feel a tiny bit less vulnerable as Sweet Pea stalks towards him, the chain rattling along as Jughead moves.

“Because for one, that-” Sweet Pea reaches for the chain, wraps his fingers around it for a second, then grunts in pain and yanks them away again, a short sizzling hiss flaring up, followed by the stench of charred flesh. When Sweet Pea raises his palm so that Jughead can see it, Jughead’s back pressed firmly against the cold cement wall to put as much distance between them as he can, there’s a reddened burn pattern on Sweet Pea’s skin mimicking the links of the chain. “-is fucking silver.”

Jughead can feel his breath catch and his eyes go wide. So that’s why the chains look as shiny as they do. God. That really is bad. He can feel his stomach sinking even further as Sweet Pea turns to gesture at the markings covering the walls, floor and ceiling.

“And _t_ _hose_ are wards. I don’t know all of them and they’re not activated yet, except for the one circling the cell. But those I do recognize are not fucking good.” Sweet Pea grits out, his teeth bared and his chest rising and falling visibly with his anger. Jughead has to fight the urge to duck his head and cower and he feels the childish ache of wishing he had his beanie right now bubble up violently, of wishing he could reach up and pull it down to cover his ears and give him some sense of security, however small or useless it may be. Just something, anything to hold onto.

“And I’m pretty sure that door isn’t just steel either. This cell was designed to keep someone like me contained. Whoever made it knew what they were doing.” Sweet Pea goes on, his free hand, the one with the burn on it, gesturing towards the thick metal door of the cell agitatedly. “We’re as good as fucking dead. The only reason we’re still breathing right now is because they want something from us. And once they’ve got that, they’re going to dispose of us quicker than you can fucking blink.”

“They?” Jughead repeats faintly, his head spinning with what Sweet Pea just said, trying to wrap his mind around it. Unwilling to accept the utter hopelessness of the picture Sweet Pea just painted, for the sake of his sanity more than anything else. It can’t be as bad as that. Yeah, Cheryl is a bitch, but she’s not a fucking _murderer_. When it comes to the rest of the Blossom family, or what’s left of it anyway, Jughead’s not so sure, though. He can feel that fist of dread tightening dangerously in his gut.

“ _Hunters_.” Sweet Pea spits the word out like it’s the worst curse imaginable, like he hates the taste of it as it crosses his tongue. Hatred and fear mixed together into something venomous and vile.

The _Blossoms_? That’s not…

Before Jughead has a chance to complete the thought, though Sweet Pea perks up, his posture straightening and his muscles tensing as his attention hones in onto the door of the cell and a moment later the sound of a key engaging the lock rattles quietly through the empty space around them. They’re here. Which means that Jughead’s question is going to answer itself in about another second or so anyway.

Sweet Pea turns towards the door fully and takes a step backward until he comes almost flush with Jughead’s front, covering Jughead with his broader, taller frame easily like a living, breathing shield. Jughead tries to step to the side a little, to be able to see what’s going on, but Sweet Pea’s hand shoots out, the one that’d been clutching at his wound, and blood-covered fingers fist into the cloth of Jughead’s shirt at the waist, keeping him still with a warning growl. Jughead freezes for a second, breath hitching and heart racing, and then catches himself, tilts his head to the side instead, so that he can peek past Sweet Pea’s shoulder just in time to watch the heavy metal door being pulled open on silent, well-oiled hinges. No dramatic creak or groan as the two women on its other side come into view.

Penelope Blossom, in the flesh, followed closely by her daughter, her only remaining child, Cheryl.

Mrs. Blossom looks exactly like she did the few times Jughead’s seen her so far, cold and imposing, every aspect of her perfectly in place, the way that she moves controlled and stiff as somehow marks the ridiculously wealthy off from the rest of society. The Blossoms have always been strangely secretive, only leaving the grounds of Thornhill – before it burnt down – when they absolutely had to. Enough so that there is more than one strange story being whispered about them in hushed tones, and it is sometimes hard to tell which are actually true and which aren’t.

Jughead remembers only too well the first time he’d set foot into Thornhill at Jason Blossom’s funeral, dead set on investigating, with Betty firmly at his side. It’d been exciting then, the rush of playing with fire, the thrill of the hunt for clues in their very own little murder mystery. They’d been such children then. Children with no concept of the kind of danger they’d been getting themselves into by sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. They’d been very lucky the way it’d all turned out. Though Jughead supposes the Blossoms had gotten off far less leniently.

Being in the presence of Penelope Blossom now, though, carries an entirely different weight than it had back then. Especially with the implications of this new dark and horrible reality woven into it.

‘Hunter’. Jughead repeats the word in his mind as her cold gaze takes him and Sweet Pea in slowly, analytical and condescending, the way her nose wrinkles slightly as she does so, dangerously close to disgust, and Jughead can feel a chill run down his spine. It _can’t_ be true. That’s what he wants to make himself believe, at least. That this is all just some huge misunderstanding and that there’s a perfectly mundane explanation for all of it. But he’s not stupid enough to actually fall for that, no matter how much he’d like to. He’d have to be fucking blind to.

Almost of its own accord, his hand comes up to circle Sweet Pea’s wrist where he’s holding onto Jughead’s shirt, the chain connecting Jughead’s arm to the wall clinking softly with the motion. He can feel Sweet Pea’s muscles stiffen further under his palm. And it’s not like Jughead _wants_ to touch Sweet Pea, but Sweet Pea is pretty much the only solid thing here with him right now and Jughead grits his teeth and lifts his chin defiantly when the movement catches Mrs. Blossom’s eye and she looks directly at his face for the first time.

“How very sweet.” Mrs. Blossom says, her voice as cold and condescending as her gaze, lips twisting up into a tiny crooked smile, so very pleased. Jughead doesn’t like it one bit. And judging from the growl rumbling through Sweet Pea’s chest, he’s right there with Jughead. Half-hidden behind her mother, Cheryl’s face is an impassive, emotionless mask, practiced and well-worn.

“Why don’t we set down a couple of ground-rules before we get to the meat of things? It only seems proper and fair. You are our guests, after all. You’ll want to pay attention, though, because I won’t be repeating myself.” Mrs. Blossom practically hums the words, but the cruel distaste gleaming in her eyes leaves no doubt as to where her sentiments lie. Getting right to the point, Jughead thinks bitterly, no needless preamble whatsoever. He presses his mouth into a thin, bloodless line to keep himself from making a smart remark. Somehow he doesn’t think now’s a good time to let his trademark sarcasm loose. Sweet Pea remains just as quiet, but Jughead can sense him seething silently, anger radiating off of him in waves, even though Jughead can’t see his face right now.

“Rule number one: You do as I say, when I say it. That should be simple enough, I suppose.” She goes on, her voice taking a harsh, clipped tone as she says it, her eyes boring first into Sweet Pea’s, then shifting to stare at Jughead with that same cool distaste. Jughead can’t help the way his breath gets stuck in his throat as her eyes bore into him. Somehow, Jughead’s always had the suspicion that that woman has blood on her hands, one way or another, but with how she’s looking at him now, there’s not a doubt in his mind that he was right. More than just a little, likely. His stomach goes all queasy and he does his best to swallow around it and not give in and drop his gaze. There’s still got to be some of his old bravado left inside of him somewhere.

“Should you make me repeat myself or, even worse, be stupid enough to try and defy me, there will be consequences, of course. I don’t make idle threats. We Blossoms tend to mean what we say.” Mrs. Blossom goes on, her air of natural superiority not wavering for a second.

Jughead has so many fucking questions right now, it’s not even funny. Anything to distract him from the building dread squirming around in the pit of his stomach. But just as his mouth drops open to say something, Mrs. Blossom speaks again, cutting him off with a tone so silky smooth it makes goosebumps break out all over Jughead’s skin, and not in a pleasant way. “Though perhaps, with the likes of you, a little demonstration might go a lot further than mere words.”

With that, Penelope casually reaches out and taps the backs of her gloved fingers against the door frame of the cell, the soft clink of metal against metal echoing ominously through the hollow space as her wedding band connects with the frame. There’s a buzzing sound, reaching Jughead’s ears just a fraction of a second before his entire body lights up with pain. It’s liquid fire thrumming through his cells, searing every nerve ending in his body, seizing his muscles to the point where he can’t even scream or breathe or do anything at all but stand there and suffer in absolute silence, even as his ears are ringing so loudly he thinks his eardrums are about to burst.

His grip on Sweet Pea’s wrist tightens with the rest of his body as agony sings through his veins and Sweet Pea jerks and stiffens as well, a choked off sound barely escaping his throat.

It ends just as abruptly as it started and, like a marionette with its strings cut, suddenly nothing left to keep him on his feet, Jughead crumbles to the ground panting hard and gasping desperately for breath, Sweet Pea crashing down into a messy heap in front of him. His skin feels like it’s on fire, sparks still dancing across it, tiny little aftershocks as his head spins and his vision is reduced to a blurry mess. Tears, he realizes belated, his face wet where they’ve fallen without his notice.

That was a fucking _electric shock_ , Jughead thinks frantically, his heart racing and his teeth aching from having clenched them so hard. Penelope Blossom just fucking _shocked_ him. And Sweet Pea too, because Jughead’d been touching him, he thinks dazedly, as Sweet Pea grunts and groans lifting himself up onto his elbows and twisting around until he’s facing Jughead. He’d had no idea being shocked could hurt that fucking much.

“Jughead...” Sweet Pea presses out, his voice rough like sandpaper and Jughead flinches when Sweet Pea’s hands cradle his face and turn it until he’s looking back at Sweet Pea, thumbs wiping through the trails of moisture there with a little too much force behind the motion. “ _Tell me you’re alright_.” The words sound like a plea, choked off and a little too desperate and Jughead can feel the dizziness get worse as he tries to focus his eyes on Sweet Pea’s face, pain stabbing though his temples as a reward for the effort. That must have been pretty high voltage, he thinks dazedly, wondering vaguely how much the human body can take before the damage done becomes permanent in some form. But _how_?

“I’m – I’m OK, I think.” Jughead croaks, his own voice painful as it passes through his throat, as if he’d screamed it raw, when he knows that he didn’t actually get out a single sound, and he says it almost as much to reassure himself as to reassure Sweet Pea. A part of him knows instinctively that he needs to keep Sweet Pea calm right now. Or things are going to get a lot worse for the both of them really quickly, that much he doesn’t doubt for a second.

Sweet Pea whines lowly and closes his eyes as he presses their foreheads together, both of them feverish and flushed. And all of that skin contact is almost too much with how sensitized Jughead feels right now, but he lets Sweet Pea do it anyway. It’s not like he could fight Sweet Pea off, even if he were so inclined, a bitter voice at the back of his head provides snidely. He knows that from plenty of firsthand experience after all.

Jughead shifts, the chain around his wrist rattling softly, and then it all clicks into place in his head and he sucks in a shuddering breath. Of course. That’s how she did it. There has to be some sort of hidden mechanism somewhere that can send a current through the chain, magic or mundane. So ithe shackles aren’t just an additional measure to keep him and Sweet Pea from escaping… God.

“You fucking-” Sweet Pea growls, his voice rising in volume and his hands tightening on Jughead’s face until his grip is borderline painful, before Sweet Pea lifts his head to meet Penelope’s unimpressed gaze, faster to recover than Jughead. And the next thing Jughead knows, Sweet Pea is heaving himself to his feet, seething with rage, taking a dangerous step toward the door, the nails on his fingers sharpening ever so slightly but unmistakably and oh, no, no, no, this is bad. Jughead’s heart leaps into his throat and he forgets how to breathe for a second, before he can catch himself again.

“Wait.” Jughead chokes out, reaches with a shaky hand and just so manages to grab hold of the hem of Sweet Pea’s sweatpants before Sweet Pea can take another step and move out of his reach entirely. And it’s not like Sweet Pea couldn’t shake off his grip easily, but Jughead guesses he’s lucky, at least this once, because it actually makes Sweet Pea halt and freeze where he’s standing. “Don’t. She’ll do it again.”

“Clever boy. At least _one_ of you is more than a mindless beast.” Penelope’s condescending voice drifts over to Jughead, making the rhythmical throb of pain in his temples flare unpleasantly. But at least Sweet Pea seems to be listening to him, because while his muscles stay as tense as they are, his fingernails slowly return to their fully human shape on their own, and he doesn’t try to take another step forward. All he does is curse under his breath and continue to stare at the two figures in the doorway to their cell.

Jughead groans again, heartfelt and pitiful, and struggles to heave himself up into a sitting position, until his back is resting against the wall and his legs are crossed in front of him. He catches a quick glance at Cheryl’s face as he does so. It looks pale in the low light of the hallway, cracks forming in that indifferent mask she’s wearing, showing in the stark white of her eyes. She looks away from him and focuses back on Sweet Pea as soon as she catches him looking.

Jughead wipes the sleeve of his shirt across his face jerkily, to get rid of the sticky feeling on his cheeks. God, this is bad. But what he still doesn’t get is _why_? If the Blossoms are really hunters, which, yeah, all evidence kind of points in that direction… then why the hell didn’t they just kill them? Why keep Sweet Pea and him alive in the first place? Not that Jughead actually minds the fact that he’s still breathing, thanks, even with how shitty everything is right now, but it still doesn’t add up.

“Now, let’s get back to the matter at hand, shall we? No use in wasting any more time than we absolutely have to.” Mrs. Blossom’s voice snaps Jughead out of his train of thought and his gaze locks back onto her coolly cruel face. “You-” She points a gloved finger at Sweet Pea, the motion perfectly composed, and Jughead can see Sweet Pea stiffen out of the corner of his eyes. “-can prove that you’re capable of understanding and following through on instructions by moving over there against the wall.” She ends her words with an offhand gesture towards the wall to Jughead’s left and Jughead swallows thickly around the lump in his chest. Somehow he doesn’t think that this is going to lead anywhere good for either Sweet Pea or him. But what choice do they have right now?

Sweet Pea makes an angry, derisive sound, and for a moment Jughead’s almost afraid he’ll refuse and make Penelope demonstrate the consequences of that again, but then Sweet Pea glances at Jughead over his shoulder, grits his teeth, and does as he’s told. Jughead lets out the shaky breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding when Sweet Pea reaches his destination, back against the wall where Penelope had indicated. It’s clear that Sweet Pea isn’t fucking happy about it by the way his fists are clenched at his sides and his teeth are bared, gold flickering behind the brown of his eyes right now. And Jughead can’t help choke a little around the lump in his throat. He wonders how Sweet Pea would act, what he’d be doing right now, if Jughead weren’t here with him. Would that have been better or worse for Sweet Pea? It’s an unhappy thought and it leads no-where, so Jughead does his best to shake it again.

“Good boy.” Penelope says, her voice dry and dripping with condescension, and Sweet Pea growls at her balefully, but doesn’t move otherwise. She reaches beneath the collar of her crimson colored blouse, hooks her fingers around a silver chain resting against her skin and pulls until an amulet dangling from it appears. It’s not any kind of stone like the ones heand Sweet Pea are wearing, but metal – silver, he thinks, from the looks of it – polished and eagerly reflecting the light that’s pouring out of the cell and into the hallway. A perfect circle, like some kind of medallion, with the shape of a rose blossom etched into its center and symbols like vines twisting around that.

Penelope holds the amulet towards the door frame of the cell and touches a spot on it with the amulet carefully. A second later symbols like runes, unfamiliar to Jughead’s eyes, light up first on the frame, then start racing across the wall to the floor until they form a semi-circle around Sweet Pea against the wall. Brightly lit up for a moment, then fading out until all that remains is the semi-circle emitting a barely noticeable, faint glow against the gray stone. Another barrier like the one circling the cell? Jughead blinks at it, but then straightens up and lifts his gaze back towards the doorway when he hears the high-heeled click of footsteps entering the cell.

Jughead sees Mrs. Blossom stride across the hard stone floor, but, with a start, he realizes that she’s actually headed towards him and not Sweet Pea, and Jughead tries to scramble up off of the floor where he’s still sitting propped against the wall. But, his heart fluttering around in his chest anxiously, he fails, his muscles rubbery and refusing to cooperate properly, nerves abuzz with the fading memory of that electric current that had burnt its way through them. So he gives up and slumps back against the wall, teeth gritted against the bubbly nausea twisting around in his stomach. He doesn’t like the way Penelope Blossom’s gaze is boring into him one bit. Like she’s trying to strip the flesh off his bones just by looking at him. It sends an unpleasant chill through his blood.

Once she reaches him, she sinks down into a crouch in front of him, the motion effortless and smooth despite her age, and Jughead swallows thickly around the lump in his throat. She’s not even bothering to keep a safe distance. It would be easy as anything to lift up his hand and touch her right now, as if she doesn’t see him as a threat at all. Completely dismissive of any power he might have in this fucked up situation. But then again, Jughead thinks, his heart sinking and his limbs growing ever more heavier with quiet defeat at his sides, is she really all that wrong? A bitter taste spreads across his tongue and he does his best to ignore it, to meet her gaze defiantly and at least show her that he’s not going to be cowed that easily. He’s not some meek, helpless thing. Right?

Jughead can hear the faint rumble of Sweet Pea’s growl float over from the other side of the room and he does his best to ignore it. Jughead gets a whiff of her perfume, heavy and sweet enough to make his head spin slightly, as she wrinkles her nose in distaste and leans closer still. One of her gloved hands reaches out, surprisingly strong fingers closing around his chin and twisting his head to the side, giving her a slightly better view of his nape. No longer able to fully see what she’s doing, Jughead can’t help the way he flinches when he feels the tip of a silk-covered finger trace along the outlines of his bite mark and he sucks in a sharp breath at the unpleasantness of the feeling, at the deep-reaching sting it carries. Tendrils of discomfort twisting around his spine like vines.

Mrs. Blossom hums softly under her breath before finally releasing her grip on Jughead. The chains connecting his wrist to the wall rattle as he reaches up to cover his nape with one hand, feeling oddly protective of himself, and fighting the urge to slump and curl inward to escape her prying gaze. He hates the way her eyes pierce through him like that, cold and calculating, malice barely hidden at all. As though she can easily see everything he doesn’t want her to.

“If the timeline my dear daughter has laid out for me is correct, that should have healed much better by now.” She says, her brows furrowing into a displeased frown, as if it’s somehow _Jughead’s_ fault. Then her eyes land on the leather cord around Jughead’s neck, peaking out just so above the collar of his t-shirt, and she lifts one of her brows inquisitively, gesturing towards Jughead’s chest with one elegant finger outstretched. “Be a dear and lift your shirt for me.”

Jughead freezes, his heart rate picking up and his hands balling into fists at his sides, refusing to move and obey the command. He does not feel like exposing himself any further right now, especially not with Penelope Blossom’s cold, dispassionate gaze peering at him like she would an insect under a microscope and Cheryl watching from the doorway with a look on her face Jughead can’t read at all. While he’s sitting chained up and helpless in a fucking cell. He’s not sure what’s worse, this new captivity now, or the one he’d endured with Sweet Pea.

At least he strongly doubts Penelope Blossom is going to hurt him the same way Sweet Pea did. But not knowing what she _is_ going to do holds its own kind of creeping terror. And at least Sweet Pea’d tried to be kind, hadn’t he? Regardless of how much Jughead hates to admit that, of how much he’d suffered despite it. But it could have been worse still. How horrible would things have been if Sweet Pea _hadn’t_ tried to control his instincts for Jughead’s sake, if he hadn’t cared at all? Had Sweet Pea really been the lesser of two evils? Jughead can feel a throbbing pain shoot out from his temples, stomach twisting up until he wants to curl around the pain. He feels dizzy, and like a part of himself is about to break loose from the rest of him if he’s not careful. He’s so sick of being afraid.

“Don’t fucking touch him.” Sweet Pea’s voice rumbles through the cell, dripping darkness and anger and all it does is make Jughead’s stomach clench even harder until he feels the nausea rise up harshly enough that he has to clench his teeth around it desperately. Sweet Pea’s touch had been unwanted, always, except where it hadn’t been. Except where an awful part of it had felt _good_. And Jughead almost, _almost_ , feels unmoored enough to want it back. Sweet Pea’s the one trying to protect him, now. No matter that he’s just as useless and helpless as Jughead is here.

“Keep quiet, wolf, or I will cut out the boy’s tongue instead of yours.” Mrs. Blossom utters the threat like it means nothing to her, her voice chill and even as though she’s making some kind of off-handed comment, not even bothering to turn and face him while speaking to Sweet Pea. And somehow, Jughead doesn’t have any trouble at all believing that she’d make good on her threat without any hesitation whatsoever. He doesn’t think he remembers the last time someone creeped him out that badly, except maybe Hiram Lodge with his horrible fake smile and cruel eyes. Sweet Pea is different, more complicated. More intimate, and Jughead doesn’t know what to do with any of this anymore. He needs to get a fucking grip already, pull himself back together, damn it.

Because Hiram Lodge isn’t the one crouching in front of him right now, and Sweet Pea is as trapped as he is, and Jughead’s got other problems than that to focus on at the moment. At least Sweet Pea seems to get it, too, because he keeps quiet after that. For now, Jughead thinks, and tries to ignore the awful feeling in his gut. Jughead can just so see Sweet Pea’s face over Mrs. Blossom’s right shoulder, contorted with barely contained rage and gold flickering harshly in his eyes.

“Now.” Penelope’s voice makes Jughead’s attention snap back to her, and he can see the way she’s idly twisting the marriage band on her finger. Magic, Jughead thinks, not for the first time. And somehow he’s got the feeling that the door frame isn’t the only place she can touch with that thing to send another shock through his shackles. He grits his teeth and forces himself to peel his eyes away from her hands and meet her gaze head-on. “You seem to be a clever child at least, don’t you? Or so you like to think? Are you going to do something stupid and make me repeat myself?”

Jughead can’t help but hate his own weakness, but he doesn’t want any more pain. He figures he’s had enough of that lately. And he doesn’t know how much more he can bear without losing the last parts of himself he’s managed to hold onto. And he desperately does not want to find out who he’ll be once that has happened. So he’s left with no choice again, with no regards to his comforts or his will. He should really be used to that by now, he thinks bitterly. Bile stinging the back of his throat as he forces himself to move, to command his hands as they grip the hem of his t-shirt and lift it up to expose his stomach and chest. The grip is so tight not even he can tell whether or not they’re shaking. A bitter part of himself can’t help but wonder how much this woman hates him for the part he played in solving her son’s murder.

“I see.” There’s a harsh glint in Penelope Blossom’s eyes as she takes in the amulet resting at the center of Jughead’s chest and the strange latticework of black veins running outwards from it. Have they gotten more prominent again? Covered more skin? Jughead flinches when the tip of a velvety gloved finger traces the edge of the amulet, not wanting to be touched at all but helpless to escape it yet again.

With a jerky motion Jughead tugs his t-shirt back down as soon as she’s pulled her hand away again, unable to deal with Penelope’s dispassionate scrutiny any longer. She makes a low, derisive sound, but doesn’t try to stop him. Letting out a shaky breath to try and dispel the uneasy nausea in his gut, Jughead presses his back harder against the cool stone wall as he watches the corner of Mrs. Blossom’s mouth twitch up into something dark and unpleasant.

“So the situation you’ve found yourself in isn’t quite consensual, is it? I suppose it’s not that much of a surprise.” She goes on, the cold tone of her voice as she observes his plight sending chills down Jughead’s spine and fueling the nausea until it becomes harsh and vicious again. The glint in Penelope Blossom’s eyes as she meets Jughead’s again is malicious and cruelly amused.

“Does FP know? He doesn’t, does he? I wonder what he’d dos if he knew that his precious little son was being defiled by a monster. One that’s been living right underneath his nose all the while, no less. One under his very _protection_. Proud and stupid FP. He used to strut around the halls of Riverdale High like he owned the place, you know? So hopelessly arrogant. Trying so very hard to pretend away his heritage, his upbringing, the circumstances of his sad, pitiable little life. And what has become of him now? A useless piece of trash, who cannot even protect his own child. Just like the father used to despise so much. Nothing but human waste. I’d almost feel sorry for him, if I didn’t hate him as much as I do.”

Jughead flinches at her words, dripping with venom and resentment. It fucking hurts, having it spelled out like that. Like a knife twisting between his ribs. And he knows his dad didn’t always make the best decisions, that he’s not perfect by far, but he doesn’t deserve that much condescension either. Jughead loves him and he believes in him, wants nothing more than to leave the past behind and strain towards the better future his dad has all but given up hope on. Even if he can’t see how any of that is supposed to be possible now.

“You don’t know my dad.” Jughead presses out through clenched teeth, his heart aching so bad he can feel his eyes stinging and his cheeks heating with a strange mix of anger and hurt. He’s got his pride, too, and he won’t just sit here and listen to this woman drag his father through the mud. “He may have worked for your husband for a little while and maybe you went to school together, but you don’t know shit about him. You don’t have the right to talk about him like that.”

He knows that mouthing off right now isn’t going to get him anywhere, that it’s probably a shitty idea, but there’s no way he can just let her get away with it. And focusing on his dad at least helps him take his mind off of the other aspect of her words, helps him keep the panic down, the foul unease clawing at the inside of his ribs viciously. Though her reaction stops him short.

The sound of her laughter is bright and clear as it rings through the empty space of the cell around them. “How very sweet.” She says, mocking and arrogant. “Stupid, but sweet. It is you who does not know the first thing about that precious dead-beat father of yours. What a pity. The Jones men and their unwarranted pride... but now’s not the time. We have more important things to discuss than FP Jones II and his sad legacy.”

With that, Penelope gets up out of her crouch in one smooth motion and turns on her heels to face Sweet Pea instead. The relief that floods through Jughead when her attention leaves him almost surprises him in its intensity. Though it doesn’t last particularly long.

“Take off your shirt, mutt.” She says, short and biting, like someone ordering around a distasteful animal, and Jughead watches the way Sweet Pea’s eyes flicker and his lips pull back to bare his teeth in a silent snarl, stomach cramping painfully around nothing at the display.

But, after a pained glance towards Jughead, chained up and miserably slumped against the wall as he is, Sweet Pea grabs his shirt and jerks it off in one angry motion, the fabric straining unhappily in his grip. Then he straightens his back and stiffens his shoulders, so that he rises up to his full height proudly and glares down at Mrs. Blossom, even as his reddened, blistered chest with his own amulet resting at the center where the damage is worst is bared to the cool air of the cell and its occupants’ unforgiving gaze.

Jughead sucks in a breath through his teeth at the sight. It’s definitely gotten worse since the last time he saw it, just like his own. And the puffy wound on Sweet Pea’s shoulder, left behind by the bolt of Cheryl’s crossbow, leaking a trail of reddish-clear fluid sluggishly across the burnt mess of Sweet Pea’s skin, isn’t exactly helping either. Jughead doesn’t _want_ to feel bad for Sweet Pea, but being confronted so inevitability with how much pain he has to be in right now, regardless of how stubbornly he’s trying to not let it show, Jughead cannot fight the pang of hurt that blossoms in his own chest.

A sympathy ill deserved, but still undeniable. His feelings towards Sweet Pea, as much as he wants to keep them clear and unmistakable, are becoming more and more muddled and he doesn’t know what to do anymore. He clenches his fists at his sides and grinds his teeth until the muscles in his jaws ache just to make that feeling fade away again, before his stomach decides that acid is still worth chucking up and the nausea can take over completely.

Mrs. Blossom makes a _tsk_ sound under her breath. Even though Jughead can’t see her expression, with her back turned towards him the way that it is, she still manages to give off an air of being completely unfazed.

“As expected.” She observes coldly. “Though perhaps it’s a bit surprising that a beast such as yourself would care enough about someone else, a human no less, to go this far for their sake. The mating bond is nothing to be trifled with, I suppose. Even incomplete as yours may be. So what happened? You sniffed him out and thought you could just take what you wanted by force, the way your kind does so happily, and then had to realize that he’s more stubborn than you’d anticipated? And now you’re trapped in a dilemma that can only be solved through delicacy? Leaving you at a complete loss? Monsters don’t lend themselves well to being gentle, do they?”

“Well.” Penelope goes on, even as her words pierce hot needles through Jughead’s chest, making it hard to breathe, and Sweet Pea’s expression pulls tight until his face is all scrunched up with a mixture of rage and pain. “Weakened as you are by that thing that’s sapping away your magic, it only makes it easier for us. Though I do suppose we’ll have to adjust your treatment a bit, so as not to kill you sooner than we want. You see, I have some questions for you and I will not let you slip away before I have my answers. The Blossoms have been negligent long enough, I believe. It is high time we took our responsibilities seriously again. It’s impossible not to see that now.”

“The Blossom bloodline has been protecting this place ever since the first settlers arrived on this god forsaken piece of land, after all.” She adds, sounding somewhat lost in thought, and a glance over at Cheryl shows her expression hard and filled with new resolve. This is good, though, Jughead thinks, even as he feels his own interest pique with a strange thrill of excitement – out of place in a situation as dire as this, but not something he’s ever been able to help. Because he’s always been good at getting people to talk, even if they’re reluctant, at keeping them going and making them say more than they’d intended and that right there is an opening served up on a silver platter, if he’s ever seen one.

A chance to buy them some time, even if his own head is still reeling with the implications of Mrs. Blossom’s words.

“So the Blossoms were always hunters?” Jughead makes himself say, his voice soft but still loud enough to carry in the hollow space of the cell. He can’t help but notice the way Sweet Pea flinches at that last word. Mrs. Blossom huffs out a breath and turns to face him again.

“Of course not, child.” Penelope Blossom retorts, one of her eyebrows raised condescendingly, as if to underline how stupid she finds his question. But Jughead grits his teeth and ignores the insult, figuring it doesn’t really matter as long as it gets her talking. “The ones who first came to settle here had no idea the kind of darkness and evil they’d find. A lot of them perished in this land ridden with strange disease, with savages and monsters and dark magics that would make your knees quiver in fear if you had to face them now. But the Blossoms were God-fearing folk and they have always been strong-willed and resourceful if nothing else. It was Colonel Barnabas B. Blossom who finally rid this very earth around us of its taint. Diminished savages and monsters alike and set up what would later become the town you now know as Riverdale. And the Blossoms have been defending it against the darkness that still looms all around ever since.”

“There’s a clan of witches, of satanists in the actual sense of the word, living right across the border in Greendale to this day. That cursed place that used to be called Salem. Who do you think you’ve got to thank for the fact that they’ve never once set foot in Riverdale in all this time, hm? I can assure you that something as trivial and useless as ‘luck’ has had nothing to do with it.” She goes on as Jughead absorbs her words with the feeling of dread in his gut growing steadily. All this time he’d had no idea. He’d always thought, in a way, that Riverdale was center of that sinister darkness lurking in the shadows all around, and that the rest of the world far off from small town pettiness, would easily be found to be a better place.

“Things around here have been rather quiet for a long time now.” Mrs. Blossom says, something in her expression pulling unpleasantly tight and sending another chill down Jughead’s spine as Sweet Pea stands restlessly in his corner of the cell, legs twitching and hands balled into white-knuckled fists. “A bit too quiet maybe. For it led my late husband to believe that the hunt was no longer worth his full attention and he started giving more and more of his time to branching out the maple business to smuggle in drugs and dealing them. I warned him against it so many times. But he never once listened. And in the end it cost our son’s life as well as his own. That stupid, complacent old fool. But the vermin has run free long enough beneath our noses. It is time to thoroughly cleanse this town of the sorry stains that have spread and sullied what we love and have sworn to protect. And you just so happen to be the lucky first to get a taste of that.”

“It seems my daughter’s efforts to awaken me and lead me back onto the righteous path that I’d almost forgotten my fealty to have come to fruition.” She finally says, then, as she turns towards Cheryl, still standing in the doorway like a statue, cold and untouchable, Penelope adds. “Are you happy now, dear spawn of mine?”

When Cheryl doesn’t answer, but lets her eyes slip to the side instead to avoid her mother’s piercing gaze, one corner of Penelope’s mouth twists up into an ugly smile. “Well, go on and get the tools we need. This is what you have been trained for, after all. Let us see if you can stomach the real thing better than your poor, soft-hearted, weak-minded brother. You always were the stronger one out of the two of you.”

That finally unfreezes Cheryl from her position as a silent onlooker and, with a look on her face like she just bit into something sour and unpleasant, she turns and walks off down the hall, her footsteps echoing loudly. That’s not good, that’s not good at all, Jughead thinks, something slithery and cold, unpleasantly close to panic, rising in his gut as he struggles up onto his knees. He’s seen more than enough horror movies to have a whole loop of images of what is to come flood into his mind unpleasantly. He needs to do something, say something to keep Mrs. Blossom talking and occupied with him. To stop her from doing whatever the hell it is she’s planning on, because somehow Jughead’s got the bitter suspicion that it’s going to be very awful.

“We’re underground, right?” Jughead blurts out, drawing both Sweet Pea’s and Penelope’s attention onto himself, just like he’d wanted. “That’s why this structure is still intact even after Thornhill burnt down? That’s pretty clever. How big is this place? Must have taken a while to build it. Especially without anyone in town noticing construction. Or are there actually people you can contract with this sort of thing? People that will build you magical dungeons or something? And how long has it been here anyway?”

Jughead knows he’s rambling and Mrs. Blossom’s cold gaze tells him exactly what she thinks of his poor attempt at questioning her, but that’s not the point, he reminds himself firmly. Though he’s not even sure why he’s trying so hard himself. Does he honestly think that they’ll find a way to get out of this if he just manages to distract her long enough? This cell with all of its magic, this place where she is the sole center of power and everyone else has no choice but to cower before her will? And what’s going to happen if they don’t?

Is she going to kill Sweet Pea once she’s done with her questions? And what about him? Is there any chance at all that she might just let him go after? Because he’s just a regular person, not a monster? Because she doesn’t really need him? Would she even kill a human, if her prerogative is to hunt down and kill “monsters” like Sweet Pea? She’s already proven that she’s not above hurting Jughead to get what she wants, but would she really go so far as to commit the murder of a teenage boy going to school with her daughter?

But then again, it’s not like any of that stopped her husband from shooting his own son in the head in cold blood, Jughead reminds himself, the horror of watching it unfold before his eyes on the screen of Archie’s laptop still a harsh after-image in his mind.

Something ugly twists in Jughead’s gut, reaches out into his limbs, crawling beneath his skin and building up pressure against the inside of his ribs. A feeling that’s making it harder and harder to think, to concentrate properly. He can’t die here. Not now. Not after everything he’s endured so far to keep himself alive. Not before he’s gotten a chance to see his dad one more time, at least, to apologize for what he said to him, for the way Jughead hurt him to protect him. Not before he’s gotten a chance to take it all back and tell him that he loves him and that none of it matters as long as they can be a family again. Not before he’s talked things out with Betty and Archie and made sure that they don’t hate him for the rest of their lives, that they’ll be safe no matter what.

And… there’s a tiny part of him at the back of his mind, a quiet, cruel, shivery little voice that’s whispering a question. So low he can barely make it out, but still inescapable. ‘ _So what if Sweet Pea dies here_?’. Would that really be so bad? Wouldn’t it mean his sudden freedom from all of the horrors of the past week? Should he himself survive, that is? Would the bond between them just break and fade out if one of them wasn’t there anymore? It’s a dangerous road to go down, but as soon as the question has come up, it’s all he can think about, and suddenly it’s terribly hard to breathe. His chest is burning and his face is blood-hot as he stares up at Mrs. Blossom, waiting for her to speak, to fall for his goading again.

Does he really want Sweet Pea to die? What, if it just ends up making things worse for him if Sweet Pea dies before the bond has properly settled? If it’d been an option, wouldn’t Dr. Curdle at least have said something? And, perhaps more importantly… doesn’t wishing for Sweet Pea’s death make Jughead a monster as well? Is that really a road he can let himself go down? That thought brings a horrible sort of numbness with it. Because this is very important and he’s not sure he knows anymore.

“I don’t think any of that concerns you, boy.” Mrs. Blossom finally says, bringing Jughead’s spiraling thoughts to a screeching halt that leaves his teeth aching with how hard he’s clenching them. “You’re more clever than your father. Put those brains of yours to use and be good and who knows? You might even see the light of day one more time.”

Jughead holds his breath for a second, frozen where he is, staring up at her wide-eyed.

“But then again.” She goes on, her voice dripping venom as her gaze slides over to Sweet Pea again. “I suppose whether or not you survive the night isn’t really up to you. Let’s see how much value your life has to this monster that was willing to risk it all just to make you his.”

Jughead’s wide-eyed gaze catches Sweet Pea’s across the room and, just for a second, the veil of anger is lifted before him and Jughead gets a glimpse of what lies underneath, of what Sweet Pea is trying so very hard to cover up. Fear. So stark and painful it knocks the breath right out of Jughead’s lungs, hitting him in a way he hadn’t been prepared for at all. Because this is what Sweet Pea’s been taught to be afraid of all his life. Where Sweet Pea is the thing out of Jughead’s nightmares, hunters are what haunt Sweet Pea’s. Only that Sweet Pea has known them to be real all along and that being captured by them means death and worse. And what are the chances that they’ll be satisfied with killing Sweet Pea when there’s so much more to be had? Fangs and Toni, Toni’s grandfather and God knows how many more that are hiding on the Southside right now.

Jughead swallows thickly around the lump in his throat, heart fluttering wildly in his chest as he listens for the sound of Cheryl’s footsteps echoing closer again, until she reappears in the doorway of the cell. Holding a small steel flask and a cup made of the same material in her hands. This time, though, she does not stop in the doorway, but instead steps into the cell for the first time since Jughead regained his consciousness, and walks over to hand both items to her mother. Briefly, Jughead catches a glimpse of cursive letters curling across the front of the flask, elegant and old, etched into the metal itself, but he cannot make out what they say.

The chain attached to his wrist rattles softly as Jughead unthinkingly shifts forward, trying to see what’s happening, his pulse racing loudly in his ears. When his eyes flick up, he catches Cheryl’s sharp gaze on him, her eyebrows furrowed severely and her cherry-red lips pressed into a thin line as she gives a sharp, curt shake of her head. A silent warning. Something shockingly fragile shimmering just so behind the cold brown of her eyes. Something that’s usually hidden behind the regal disdain she wears like a shield around herself, that she uses to keep herself apart from everyone else, make herself untouchable. Fear, also, but of a different kind than Sweet Pea’s.

It only lasts for a second, though, before she turns again to watch her mother unscrew the flask and pour a small amount of the clear liquid inside into the steel cup, then carefully re-screws it. But it’s enough to freeze Jughead to the spot, eyes wide as he takes in everything that he can from his position.

“What’s that?” Sweet Pea asks, his words rough with hostility and suspicion as his nose wrinkles in an attempt to sniff it out.

“That, wolf, is acid. And you are going to drink it.” Mrs. Blossom answers, her voice as light as if she were talking about the fucking weather, though the steel threat underneath is unmistakable. It makes the breath catch in Jughead’s throat as he tries to process her words. She can’t be serious. “I’d recommend swallowing quickly. We do need your vocal chords somewhat in tact.”

Jughead watches as Sweet Pea goes pale, every muscle in his body freezing up and face twisting into a mask of impotent rage as he stares at the cup in Penelope’s velvet-gloved hand. “What if I refuse?” He presses out through gritted teeth, bare chest a mess of reddened, blistered skin still on stark display. Though Jughead can’t help but think that Sweet Pea already knows the answer to that question well enough.

“Do I really need to spell that out for you?” Mrs. Blossom retorts and sighs dramatically, like someone dealing with a particularly annoying child. Her gloved finger tracing along the rim of the cup as if lost in thought. “Well, I suppose it’s to be expected that you’re somewhat slow, so I will. Just for the fun of it. If you refuse to cooperate in any way, I will make your _mate_ do it instead. Although I don’t think he’d survive quite as well as you would with your healing rate. Or maybe I’ll pour it across his face. See, if you still like him then. When he’s not so pretty anymore.”

Sweet Pea’s features distort even more, gold ablaze behind his irises. Teeth bared in a silent snarl as he wordlessly holds out his hand for the cup. His eyes flickering over to Jughead for just a second, then back to Penelope, to pierce her with his unrelenting gaze. Jughead can feel the blood in his veins run cold as his chest pulls painfully tight, white noise rushing through his ears loudly.

She’s really going to make Sweet Pea drink _acid_ , Jughead thinks, his mind whirling. He feels fever-hot and everything seems to be closing in on him, that unreal sense of being sucked into a dream taking hold of him as he stares at Penelope Blossom’s back. It’s going to burn down Sweet Pea’s throat and eat through his stomach and through his insides and Sweet Pea is going to heal, but it’s going to be horrible nonetheless. And Sweet Pea’s not even going to put up a fight.

Sweet Pea, who Jughead had wanted to hate right from the start, even though he’d secretly felt himself drawn to him. Sweet Pea, who wouldn’t stop fighting Jughead every goddamn step of the way, no matter what Jughead tried to do or why. Sweet Pea, who’s actually a fucking werewolf, because those things exist and so does magic and every other horrible thing Jughead can possibly imagine. Who held Jughead down and fucked him, again and again, no matter how hard Jughead fought back. Who gave Jughead the mating bite against his will, kidnapped him, yelled at him, threatened his family and his friends. Almost got him killed because he refused to back off even for a second. And then did a 180 from one day to the next, hurting himself to give Jughead a chance to live, giving him space to breathe when he was sure he was going to suffocate hopelessly.

Sweet Pea who wants to protect people and prove to himself that he’s not the monster others see in him. Who chased away Fangs’ abusive dad and stayed for as long as he had to to make sure that Fangs and his mom would be safe. Who helped get Toni away from her scumbag of an uncle. Who loves the Serpents and his friends with all he’s worth. Angry, short-tempered, loyal, violent, vulnerable, hard-headed, lonely.

All Jughead wants to do still is hate Sweet Pea with every fiber of his being for what he did to him. And yet.

Mrs. Blossom holds out the cup and lets Sweet Pea take it from her before pulling her hand back to the safe side of the magic barrier. Sweet Pea lifts it up to his mouth, ready to tilt it upwards, angry determination pulling at his features starkly, and all of a sudden Jughead can’t breathe anymore. The wave of fear washing over him so strong it feels like a fist to the gut. Sweet Pea’s eyes dart over to him, wide and just as afraid, though he’s hiding it better, and Jughead wants to say something, do something to stop him, but he’s frozen in place and his voice won’t work and before he gets the chance to draw in a breath he’d need to speak in the first place, Sweet Pea knocks the cup back and swallows. Then drops it to the floor, where it clatters loudly and rolls off towards the corner of the room.

For a second, while Jughead’s still trying to comprehend the reality of what just happened, time seems to stand still around them. All of them stuck in that heartbeat of stretched out suspense, waiting, waiting. But of course it’s already too late.

And then the spell is broken as Sweet Pea grunts, his face contorting with pain and his hand coming up to clutch at his chest, just below where the amulet rests, almost in slow motion. Which only makes the way he folds in on himself and tumbles to the ground, landing roughly on his side where he curls in on himself, seem all the more shocking, like it’s happening too quickly.

Sweet Pea starts to pant roughly, sweat beading on his neck even as blood shoots into the skin of his face and turns it a strange shade of red and now Jughead’s breathing again, but too quickly, too unevenly. His lungs trying desperate to keep up with his racing heart. Sweet Pea groans in pain, his fingernails scraping across the stone floor as he jerks up onto one elbow and twists his head to the side before his entire body convulses and he heaves up a stream of thick, dark blood that pools on the ground beneath him.

Once, then again, and again, his body shaking and contorting with the motions, tears streaming out of the corners of his eyes and splattering dark little circles onto the stone beneath his white-knuckled fist. The image cuts into Jughead like it’s a physical thing, as though it’s the blade of a knife shoving through his eye sockets into his brain and he can’t look away, not even for the millisecond it would take to blink, locked in silent terror as he is.

Then Sweet Pea finally stops heaving and collapses again, the arm he’s been holding himself up with giving out from one moment to the next. He lands harshly and gracelessly, his cheek making a wet sound as it lands in the puddle of congealing blood beneath him, fingers dragging through it and smearing red lines across the stone floor as he continues to struggle aimlessly, muscles shivering aimlessly. The sounds he’s making raw and horrible and filled with so much pain. Jughead feels absolutely helpless, again. Something that is so hard to bear he can taste his own blood on his tongue where his teeth have pierced the inside of his cheek, the pain of it not even registering.

When Sweet Pea finally starts to quiet down, Jughead’s not even sure if it’s because the pain is getting less or because he simply doesn’t have the strength left to show it, sinking into himself and panting softly and still trembling all over. Eyes screwed shut and body stiff as he lies on the cold ground in a puddle of his blood. He’s still breathing. That’s the only thing Jughead can tell for sure, and he’s so beside himself that he can’t even say how that makes him feel.

Mrs. Blossom snaps Jughead out of his stupor as she moves again, just a tiny jerk of her chin, the smallest of motions. And yet it seems so severe it feels utterly jarring. She nods towards the corner of the cell, where the steel cup has rolled off to, then turns slightly until her gaze meets Cheryl’s. Cheryl, who is pale and still where she stands, hands clenched into tight fists at her side, even as her back remains straight as ever. Head held high and proud and all the more fragile for it.

“Make yourself useful, child, and go pour another cup. Two fingers wide.” Penelope says, her tone as cold and even as ever, completely unfazed by Sweet Pea’s suffering, and hands the flask over to Cheryl while already turning back towards Sweet Pea. No doubt in the fact the she is going to be obeyed.

The chain attached to Jughead’s wrist rattles as he jerks forward again and is abruptly cut off in his motion. “Wait!” He’s choked out the word before his brain’s had a chance to catch up with his mouth, but he doesn’t think he’d take it back even if he could.

Cheryl straightens up with the cup in hand and both her and Penelope turn to bore into him with hard eyes. Jughead’s gaze flicks back and forth between the two of them and Sweet Pea, lying crumpled on the floor, harsh shallow breaths and too-pale skin, and peeling open one eye to look back blurrily at him. Nothing but gold flickering wildly. Jughead swallows harshly around the lump in his throat, around the dryness he cannot seem to dispel as he tries desperately to will his lungs to work as they are supposed to.

“Stop, _please_.” He hears himself say, his voice hollow and far away to his own ears. Like it’s coming to him from a great distance. He almost feels like he’s floating. “What do you _want_? Just say it. You’re going to kill him.”

His voice fades out into an almost whisper on that last sentence, so very quiet. But somehow he still knows that he’s been heard. The cruel twist of amusement around Mrs. Blossom’s lips is unmistakable.

And who would have thought that death would become such a stark reality for him like this? He’s spent 15 years of his life without having to face it firsthand once, no matter his morbid fascination with it. Then the murder of Jason Blossom had turned out to be the tipping point that would change it all, and now it seems like it follows him around wherever he goes. Tangible and heavy, a bitter weight on his tongue that he cannot shake. Something that feels like too much to carry on his own, crushing his shoulders and bending his back at a painful angle.

“Oh, I know well enough what I am doing to not let it come to that unless I want it to. And you are not the one being questioned either way. With the state of things, I doubt you’d know what I am after. Though I do find the irony in you begging for the life of the monster that has done all of that to you quite entertaining.” Penelope says, her eyes dark and dismissive as she regards him, and Jughead feels his stomach _twist_ again. Helpless. Useless. Not functioning correctly anymore. He hates all of it. “Now keep quiet. Or would you like me to hurt you again?”

She takes a step to the side, bringing herself closer to the wall of the cell, and lifts her hand towards it casually. The glint of her wedding band starkly obvious in harsh overhead light. A not so subtle threat that freezes Jughead up again. Words stuck in his throat like lumps of wet earth. Fear. Shameful and cruel.

He can hear the sound of metal sliding against metal and when he looks up, he does so just in time to see Cheryl pour another splash of acid into the cup she’s gathered. Her face a pale, stony mask. Cracks running all along the surface of it.

Penelope makes a beckoning gesture with her fingers, curls them inward leisurely, and Cheryl hands over the cup in a careful motion, cautious of not spilling any of its contents and harming herself, before she screws the lid back onto the flask. The tremor in her movements is barely noticeable, but still so very much there. She hates this, Jughead thinks desperately, violently, she hates it and she’s still doing it. And she’s the one who started it, the reason they’re here at all. He was never any good with her, Jughead knows that much easily, and now more than ever he has no idea how to reach her or what it even is that she cares about.

“Now then.” Voice silky smooth like a warm, dark caress, Penelope Blossom turns back towards Sweet Pea, lying on the ground panting and shaking. He peels open one eye to look up at her, his gaze blurry and his face a contorted mess of agony. “Shall we get to what we came here for? Or would you like another demonstration of the pain I can cause you should you refuse to answer honestly?”

Without waiting for a reply of any kind, Mrs. Blossom tilts the cup in her hand until a splash of acid trickles down and lands across Sweet Pea’s shoulder and upper back. It hisses like a flame doused with water as it meets his skin and Sweet Pea freezes for a second. Then contorts, curls into himself and hooks clawed fingers over where the skin is changing color, turning red as it melts away to expose the layers of flesh beneath. His mouth dropping open into a silent scream. Sucking in breath after breath, wet and rasping. And Sweet Pea might be a monster, but at the same time he’s a _16 year old boy_. A fucking _kid_. None of this should be happening.

Jughead tears his terrified gaze away from Sweet Pea just long enough to catch the corner of Mrs. Blossom’s mouth twisting upwards into an expression he never ever wants to see on anyone’s face again. And that’s when it really hits him, like a brass knuckled fist to the gut. She’s enjoying this. For her there is no moral conflict here whatsoever. No doubt or hesitation. To her, this is pleasure.

There’s no way in Hell either of them is getting out of this alive, Jughead thinks, hot tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he squeezes them tightly shut and brings up his hands to cover his ears with them. Just like the fucking coward that he is. Sweet Pea’s dried blood stiffening the fabric of his shirt and t-shirt at his shoulders, itchy on his skin, the one sensation that stands out the most.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings for this chapter include: Graphic depictions of violence, electric shocks, blood, acid burns, acid drinking, blood vomiting.
> 
> Please be safe and don't hesitate to contact me in case you have any more questions <3


	8. Chapter Seven Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, it's really been two months again, has it?   
> I really am sorry about how long it has been taking me to update these past couple of chapters. Sometimes life just happens like that.
> 
> Anyway, technically speaking this is the last chapter of the fic :) But, worry not, there is going to be an epilogue :) You'll understand why it's very much needed once you've reached the end of the chapter. So I will save any sentimentality and watery eyes for that one. Not ready to say goodbye to this fic just yet. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> A big thank you for the beta goes to [thegiggleatafuneral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegiggleatafuneral/pseuds/thegiggleatafuneral) :) <3
> 
> Same warnings go for this chapter as did for the last, so please keep that in mind and feel free to drop by my [Tumblr](https://yukichouji.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions :)

~*~*~

“So then, shall we begin?” Mrs. Blossom says, her gaze fixed on the huddled, shaking form of Sweet Pea at her feet, acid burns marring the skin across his shoulder and upper back, healing excruciatingly slowly, his cheek resting in a puddle of his own blood and his hands sticky with it. The horror of it all sitting in Jughead’s stomach like a block of ice, chilling his blood even as his heart races it through his body much too quickly. There’s a whirring sound in his ears that he cannot shake and it only serves to put him off more, to throw his balance in a way he doesn’t know how to recover from.

“Let’s start with something simple, hm? Ease into it a bit.” She goes on, the gloved fingers of her free hand sliding lazily around the rim of the cup holding the acid, not afraid to be burnt by it. “It is obvious that you two did not come up with a solution for that little problem with your bond on your own. That would take quite a bit more experience and finesse than either of you ought to possess, especially the making of those amulets you’re wearing. I want to know who it was that helped you.”

Jughead finds himself holding his breath in the silence that spreads after Penelope Blossom’s words, waiting, waiting, for Sweet Pea to move, to make a sound. Any indication at all that he even acknowledges her question. But the silence drags out, heartbeat after frantic heartbeat and nothing happens. Sweet Pea stays quiet and motionless aside from the chills wracking his big frame. And eventually, Jughead lets out the air stuck in his chest and sucks in a burning breath, his lungs aching and unhappy, unable to hold it any longer.

“Hm.” Mrs. Blossom hums lightly, more a dark kind of joy than actual displeasure, and she tilts her head to the side as if contemplating Sweet Pea more closely. “More pain, then?” The hand not holding the cup is lifted and she lightly taps the back of her fingers against the rim of the cup. Her wedding band making a soft clinking sound as it connects with the metal. A threat unmistakable. “But I suppose the real question is ‘for whom’, isn’t it? For you or for your precious almost-mate?”

Sweet Pea flinches at that and Jughead can see the way he bites his bottom lip, hard enough to make a trickle of fresh blood well up from under his teeth. The silence drags on for another second, then another. The cup in Mrs. Blossom’s hand moving forward and beginning to tilt, this time at the height of Sweet Pea’s face. The motion so very slow, languid almost, and something inside of Jughead snaps as his eyes trace it hopelessly.

“Wait!” The word bursts out of him with so much force it feels like it should have cracked his teeth, but it doesn’t, and all the pain he feels right now is trapped firmly inside of his chest. All he knows is that he can’t take watching Mrs. Blossom hurt Sweet Pea again. All of that horrible, white-hot anger that’d been building up inside of him, filling him up until it felt like he was ready to burst at the seams with it. That awful part of him that _wanted_ to see Sweet Pea suffer for what Sweet Pea’d done to him. It’d felt so real, so all consuming.

And yet. Faced with the stark reality of it, Jughead finds himself unable to take it. He doesn’t have the fucking stomach for it. Another defeat in a long line of losses.

Penelope Blossom’s head twitches to the side just slightly, just enough to let Jughead know he’s got her attention, and when he glances down, he can see Sweet Pea’s furious, urgent gaze boring into him. And maybe giving Mrs. Blossom anything at all is a mistake, because it’s the first step that’ll just make it that much easier for her to get more out of them, and then more again, and maybe dropping that first name means signing another death warrant.

But.

It just doesn’t feel like there’s another choice. And maybe giving up Dr. Curdle is easier because Jughead never liked him much, at least from the short impression he got of him. The man seemed more interested in his own gain in helping them, not to mention the pay, than Jughead’s or Sweet Pea’s well-being. And maybe that’s why Jughead feels like he doesn’t owe him that much loyalty. A part of him knows that, should he survive this and Dr. Curdle comes to harm because of him, Jughead still won’t be able to forgive himself. But he figures that’s something to agonize over if they even get that far.

He draws in a breath and lets his mouth drop open, ready to speak. But Sweet Pea cuts him off before Jughead can get out so much as a sound.

“Dr. Curdle.” Sweet Pea mutters, his voice rough as gravel, sending a pang of almost physical pain through Jughead just from hearing it, and so low that the words are near impossible to make out. Yet, it’s still the loudest sound in the room and it feels like it echoes through the cell all around them. Jughead remains frozen, taken by surprise, and staring at Sweet Pea’s still motionless figure.

“I’m sorry, dear, you’re going to have to speak up a bit. I don’t think I quite caught that.” Mrs. Blossom says, a hum of self-satisfied malice ringing through her voice and making Jughead’s gums itch with the burst of helpless anger it calls forth. The chain connected to the shackle around Jughead’s wrist rattles as he tugs at it reflexively.

Sweet Pea twitches, the muscles in his arm twitching as he tries to move. Then stabilizing, his arm dragging up until he can plant a palm next to his chest and push. Slowly and painstakingly he heaves himself upward, not far, but just enough to lift his cheek out of the thick, congealing puddle of his own blood. Then his chest contracts convulsively and he turns his face away and hacks a couple of times, fresh blood spattering across the cold stone, though less of it than before. Jughead holds his breath as the coughing fit subsides and Sweet Pea groans harshly before sliding his other hand to where he needs it and starting to push again, muscles straining as he rearranges his limbs painfully slowly, until he’s fought himself up into a sitting position. His back propped against the rough stone wall and his burnt chest heaving, a thin coat of sweat covering his too pale skin. The smattering and smears of dark crimson on his hand and on his face a shocking contrast.

Jughead can barely stop himself from going through with the futile attempt of reaching out for him. Something inside of him desperately straining towards Sweet Pea instead of away. The feeling is so new and so dissonant with what Jughead wants to hold onto, that he doesn’t know what to do with it at all.

“Dr. Curdle. Works at the morgue at Riverdale Central.” Sweet Pea repeats, the words slower and more clear now, though his voice still sounds terrible. Another harsh, painful reminder of what he’d just gone through. ‘But he’s healing’ Jughead thinks desperately. Trying hard to cling to that, even though he knows that it’s too slow, that Sweet Pea’s suffering now is as much because of him as it is because of Sweet Pea himself.

Mrs. Blossom blows a breath out through her nose and runs the tip of her finger along the lip of the cup once again. “Did he now?” She says, not sounding nearly as surprised as Jughead would have expected. And from the look Cheryl is giving her mother, he’s not the only one confused by her reaction.

“I suppose it’s not that much of a stretch for a man with his particular hunger for knowledge. He took your money for it, too, no doubt?” Mrs. Blossom goes on. Poising a question she does not wait for an answer to, before she continues in her musings. “Though I suppose revisiting our agreement with him is another thing to add to my list, then. He has been collecting rare magics and the like for us Blossoms for a long while, though he was supposed to keep his services ours exclusively. Another slip my husband’s neglect is to be blamed for, no doubt.”

“I – what?” Jughead blurts out without thinking, feeling faint as he sinks further into himself where he’s still kneeling on the hard, cold floor.

“Oh, please.” Mrs. Blossom huffs, one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows arched condescendingly as she turns to look down at Jughead. “Don’t tell me you didn’t expect us to have our own little web of connections across town? You still have no idea how far any of this runs, do you? It’s a pity really. So annoyingly useless.”

Jughead grits his teeth and bites back on the retort climbing up his throat. His mind fills up with static as he frantically tries to find the right thing to say to keep her occupied with him. Even if he can just buy Sweet Pea a few more moments to rest and heal, it’ll still make a difference.

“Dr. Curdle’s not the only one? How many more are there like him? How the Hell has no one noticed, yet?” That’s the best that Jughead can come up with right now and he knows he sounds so stupid, but God, he doesn’t know what else to do. Keep talking, even if it’s bullshit. Right?

Cheryl shoots him a harsh look, but Jughead ignores her, all of his attention fixed on Mrs. Blossom, as she turns towards him fully and saunters back over to him. Sinking into that much too graceful crouch of hers again, the act of lowering herself down to his level a mockery all in its own right.

“Really, now?” She asks, her dark-red lips curving upward at one corner, as she holds his gaze trapped with her own. Her eyes boring into him mercilessly, and Jughead has to forcibly remind himself to keep breathing. “Are we still playing these childish games? Do you actually want to know how hopeless your situation is? Would you like me to spell it all out for you? To paint a detailed, vivid little picture of the power that we have amassed over the course of history? Would you like me to deepen your despair until that is all you can see or think?”

Jughead sucks in a shaky breath and does everything he can to keep the tremor out of his voice as he speaks again. “Really?” He spits out, aiming for the same level of condescending as her words had been, but missing by much too far. Still, it’s enough to give her pause. An opening Jughead can claw at.

“Because it kind of looks like whatever you used to have – power or influence – has been crumbling for a while now.” Jughead pushes on, forcing out the words through his constricting throat even as he watches the expression on Mrs. Blossom’s face morph from cruel superiority into something angry and dangerous. “From where I’m sitting it kind of looks like you’ve lost a lot more than you’ve gained over the last years, decades maybe. Are you sure you’re still up for this? Maybe it’s a good time to just stay retired? Call it a day and leave the rest of us to ourselves –”

“Shut up!”

“Be quiet!”

Both Sweet Pea and Mrs. Blossom speak at the same time, their words overlapping each other and creating a mess of syllables that hangs heavily in the air around them. Only broken through by Jughead’s labored breathing. For a second, the expression on Mrs. Blossom’s face cracks open to reveal pure rage, burning hot and deadly. Then her hand shoots out so quickly Jughead just barely has the time to flinch before her fingers are digging into his cheeks, his chin. Squeezing his face hard enough to leave bruises. So much strength for someone, who looks so fragile at first glance, Jughead thinks through the mess of whirling things in his head.

“Don’t touch him!” Sweet Pea barks out from behind her, and Jughead can hear him groan and huff and struggle, but he cannot see him, and Mrs. Blossom’s attention never wavers from Jughead, not even for a second.

“You have no idea what you are talking about, you stupid _child_.” Mrs. Blossom hisses at him, her eyes livid as they bore into him with their glare. “Do you know what would happen, if we were to simply disappear? If there were no one left to carry on our legacy? If all of the wards and protections we have worked for centuries to build up around this town and maintain were to crumble and fall? You can already see the results of the cracks that have formed through neglect, can’t you? The darkness that has crept in from the outside while we weren’t paying attention?The shadows that seem deeper than they should? The whispers about strange things happening everywhere, that no one dares speak about too loudly? All of the death and misfortune that has slowly began to haunt this perfect little town of ours? Not to mention that monster that has swallowed you whole and torn apart your life as it was. How much worse do you think it would get, if we were gone? You cannot imagine the horrors that lurk out in the world around us, not even now. You’ve only just gotten a taste of them.”

“You should be sprawled at our feet, crawling on your knees and thanking us for keeping you safe all this time.” She adds on, some of her anger leaking out of her finally, though her iron-grip on Jughead’s face does not loosen. “But, alas, the price we pay for protecting you stupid, ignorant folks is the total lack of deserved recognition. When we stay true to our duties, the rest of you get to live happily and carefree and none the wiser.”

“I don’t think anyone in this fucking town has been happy or carefree for a really long time.” Jughead presses out, his words muffled by her fingers digging into his cheeks mercilessly. Meeting her gaze head-on despite the painful way his stomach is clenching and the tremble in his limbs, despite the almost physical effort it costs him to not let his eyes dart towards the cup of acid she’s still clutching in her other hand, much too close to him for any kind of comfort. “And I think you might be overestimating ‘magic’ a little. People are perfectly capable of making themselves and each other miserable without any help from some stupid ‘dark force’ or something. People just suck like that.”

Mrs. Blossom blows out a derisive breath, though the way her lips twitch at the corners holds some form of twisted humor hard to miss. “Oh, to be that naive and ignorant again.” She muses, her eyes narrowing unkindly as she takes him in. “It’s almost a shame, all of the things you’ll never get to learn. Or maybe it’s a kindness instead? Who can really say?”

With that, Mrs. Blossom finally lets go of Jughead’s face, drawing a line along his cheek with her velvety, glove-covered index finger and tapping his chin lightly before she gracefully rises back to her feet and turns away from him. To face Sweet Pea again and leave Jughead behind with her slim and elegant back presented to him, a blatant dismissal. Cheryl’s eyes, though, those he can still feel lingering on him.

Jughead sucks in a deep breath and tries to calm his racing heart, the cold sweat beading on his skin making him feel shivery and unsettled. The places where Mrs. Blossom had touched throb painfully and he thinks that it should be getting better any second now, ease up somewhat, but somehow… as the throbbing begins to fade, Jughead notices a different kind of pain rising up to replace it. Something that starts subtle, a tingling sensation that turns into a slight burn, intensity growing with every newly quickened breath Jughead pulls into his aching lungs.

The realization hits him just as the first gasp of pain leaves his throat and he doubles over, hands clutching at his face, the burning sensation springing tears to his eyes and clouding up his vision as much as the sudden rush of panic. Acid. There must have been some of the acid from the cup left on her gloves. And now that he’s focused on it, he can really feel it, the way his skin is reacting, gathering blood beneath the surface, heating, heating, then slowly starting to dissolve, the acid eating into the layer underneath, working its way through, millimeter by millimeter. Like a fast-forward sunburn only so much worse and it’s not going to stop with a few blisters and some reddened skin.

Six flaming points of pain on his chin and cheeks and one long line beneath his left eye. He needs to do something or it’s going to eat right through him – had there been enough of it to do that? - what was it you were supposed to do in a situation like this? He knows that, he payed attention in chemistry, he just needs to remember, he needs to sort out the panicked mess in his head, he needs to think through the ever-growing pain, through the heat like a furnace that radiates outward across his face, through the tears beginning to leak out of his eyes, cool lines across his burning skin and Sweet Pea’s voice rising dangerously and -

Water. You’re supposed to use water, right? But he doesn’t have any, he – and then his mind just draws a blank, all thought fading out into a thick, white fog. He draws the sleeves of his flannel shirt over his shaking hand, the one not impaired by the shackle, gasping through the pain, through the tears, as he brings his hand up to his face and starts to frantically drag the fabric over where the pain is worst. Teeth clenched to keep in the sounds he’s making in and to bite off the added hurt of rubbing away dissolving layers of skin to expose the flesh underneath, movements growing more frantic by the second.

The sound of Sweet Pea yelling and growling, of footsteps almost as frantic as his own racing heart, first moving away, then returning, vaguely piercing through the red haze in his head and then -

Jughead gasps and flinches violently when someone grabs a handful of his hair, uses the stinging grip to yank his head up, and then sputters and coughs as a load of icy cold water hits his face and soaks through his clothes. It’s a shock to his system that leaves him shivering violently, but at the same time it feels like a godsend against the burning skin of his face. Someone grabs his wrist and pulls his hand away from his cheek and then another splash of water hits his skin, pouring more slowly now, more controlled, and he desperately tilts his head up into it, bearing his chin to its flow. Some tiny corner of his mind still lucid enough to direct the motion.

He sits there unmoving, trying to hold his breath until the stream of water stops, then, once the grip on his hair as loosened, he doubles over coughing and sucking in desperate breaths. His skin feels chilled, clothes miserably wet, but the cold has quenched the burning pain somewhat, taken away it’s terrifying edge and Jughead thinks that the acid is gone now, that it’s stopped eating its way through his skin and into his flesh.

A slender but surprisingly firm hand moves to cover his forehead and then pushes until Jughead is looking up at Cheryl with his head tilted backwards. She’s clutching a metal bucket in her other hand, water running in thinning little rivulets along its body and tiny droplets falling to add to the puddle on the stone floor around Jughead’s thighs. Her hair has fallen forward over her shoulders, a bright red curtain cascading down her chest and framing her face, the expression there somehow angry and frightened at the same time. Eyes wide and mouth twisted to bare two perfect rows of teeth clenched tightly, the crimson of her lipstick stark against the sharp white.

Her eyes trace Jughead’s face where the wounds throb and tingle unpleasantly, making him hiss in air as his posture pulls at the damaged skin, but at least now he knows that it won’t get any worse, that the horror of not being able to stop the harm from progressing is over. He can feel himself shaking, though he can’t really tell if it’s the cold or the fading adrenaline that’s doing it. There’s this urge to want to see himself, to take stock of how bad it is, tumbling around in his head, but there’s no real way to satisfy it and even he knows that touching open wounds when there’s no way to disinfect them or treat them properly is probably a bad idea, so he leaves his hands firmly where they are resting at his sides.

Cheryl’s hand drops away from his forehead and Jughead lets his face tilt into a more comfortable angle, breath puffing out from in between his slightly parted lips in harsh pants, and his eyes landing on Sweet Pea as he does so. Sweet Pea, who’s frantic voice had echoed through the cell, curled up on the floor again, one arm wrapped around his stomach and the fingers of his other hand leaving read smears behind on the coarse stone where he’s clawed at the edge of the markings that make up the invisible barrier keeping him where he is. Face pale and drawn, covered with cold sweat and eyes glassy and watering as he fixes his frantic gaze onto Jughead, glued to Jughead’s chin where Jughead can still feel the tingle and sting of his fresh set of burns.

Sweet Pea looks pained, desperate, scared. Wetness glistening on his cheeks and fresh blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, staining his bared teeth a vicious red. Helpless. A word Jughead never thought he’d associate with Sweet Pea, ever. His own eyes are leaking, but he can’t even tell anymore if it’s from the shock of what just happened, if it’s the pain in his face or the pain cramping in his gut and pulling at his chest, that’s the cause of it. All he wants to do is curl up and hide away and remember what it’s like to feel _safe_ and warm. Something that now seems distant and blurred like the fading memory of a pretty dream once you’ve woken up to a starkly different reality.

“Why did you do that?” Cheryl blurts out, spinning around to face her mother, anger sharp in her voice.

Mrs. Blossom turns to meet her daughter’s gaze coolly, not a hint of lost composure as her eyes narrow disapprovingly. She crosses her arms over her stomach, the metal cup dangling form her elegant, gloved fingers almost absentmindedly.

“Because he was annoying me. What more of a reason do I need? What on earth are you so worked up over, daughter mine. I thought you disliked all of your classmates. I thought they were so beneath you that you could not care less.” Mrs. Blossom says, her voice cruelly dismissive of Cheryl’s distress. Disappointed, almost. And Jughead can see the way Cheryl’s posture stiffens where she stands, bucket still clutched uselessly in one hand. “Now put that thing away and be quiet. I’m not done yet and you are getting in the way.”

“No! I’ve watched long enough!” Cheryl retorts, the words bursting from her like a small explosion. Jughead doesn’t think he’s ever seen her lose her composure like that before. Other than at Jason’s funeral maybe, but that was grief, not anger like it is now. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt him! You said you would help, that you’d only need him to keep the monster under control! You said you’d kill that filthy _thing_ and be done with it! You lied! You always do! Why must you be so cruel?”

“How disappointing.” Mrs. Blossom shoots back, her voice calm and low in the face of her daughter’s outburst. Blatantly dismissing it. “Did you really believe that? Were you really stupid enough to think we could just let the boy go after all of this? After what he’s learned about us just by being here? That’s not how we Blossoms survived and prospered over the centuries. Bloodshed is part of the business, child of mine. Don’t be so naive. Have we really done such a bad job at teaching you?”

“You never-” Cheryl starts, then cuts herself off as her voice cracks and she takes a moment just to breathe, before she tries again. Jughead watches her, still trying to catch his own breath, to somehow keep up with the emotional roller coaster he seems to be perpetually trapped on. “All of those books, all of those stories… You always made it seem so black and white. They’re the monsters and we’re the ones protecting those ignorant fools around us from them. They deserve to suffer and die for what they are. But you – you never said anything about them being kids! You never said anything about being this horrible. You’re enjoying this! You’re having fun hurting them!”

“Are you really going to prove to me that you are as weak and gutless as your brother was, after all? How disappointing.” Mrs. Blossom says, disdain dripping from her words, and even Jughead can’t help but flinch at the cruelty of it. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Cheryl’s posture stiffen further, her free hand balling into a white-knuckled fist at her side. “I’d expected more from you. I always thought you were the stronger out of the two of you and you’d shown so much promise in standing up to me after your brother’s and your father’s death. Such potential for cruelty. But I suppose my hopes have been misplaced yet again.”

“If you cannot be of use then leave.” She finally adds, waving her unoccupied hand at her daughter dismissively, already in the process of turning back towards Sweet Pea. “We will see to the matter later. Just make sure Nana Rose does not get wind of the fact that we have _guests_. She’ll want to come down and have a go herself, and I don’t think either of these boys would survive long enough for me to finish my questioning, if we let her. You should have seen Nana Rose back in her day, sweetness. Marvelous and elegant her rain of terror was. Even though she’s so faded now you could hardly tell.”

An unbidden image of the creepy old lady Betty and him had run into at Jason Blossom’s wake while searching his room flashes unbidden before Jughead’s mind’s eye. She’d seemed frail and confused, bound to her wheelchair and one eye milky and sightless. One last, stubborn streak of red flashing blood-bright in her age-white curls, and skin so wrinkly and pale it almost seemed translucent. In his overly vivid imagination, Jughead sees her suddenly lift herself out of her chair, frail limbs invigorated with an unexpected strength, sees her one good eye flash with malice gazing down at him, and when she parts her crinkling lips to bare her teeth, her mouth is bloodstained, red trickles running down her chin as if she’d just torn a chunk of flesh right out of him.

He shakes his head jerkily, furiously trying to dispel the image. He’s seen too many fucking horror movies and his imagination has always had a tendency to run wild, something that sets him up to be a good writer, a good teller of stories, but that’s really not helping him at all right now. He doesn’t need another fucking thing to be afraid of, regardless of how ridiculous the notion of being frightened of a practically ancient old crone like Rose Blossom may be. This whole fucking family is insane, Jughead thinks bitterly. If only he’d known the half of it back when Jason Blossom’s body had first got washed up on the shore of Sweetwater River, Jughead never would have touched the case at all.

But it’s too late now and there’s really no use in pondering past mistakes, when the present has its own set of very pressing problems laid out right in front of him like this. Because Penelope Blossom is going to keep torturing the both of them until she gets what she wants and then she’s going to kill them and make their corpses disappear in some ghoulish manner. And neither his dad nor any of his friends are ever going to find out what happened to him. They’ll just think he’d finally had enough and bailed on everyone. They’ll think he left Riverdale for good, like he’d wanted to for so long, and that he’d simply decided to leave them behind with it. It’s going to break his dad’s heart, Jughead thinks despairingly.

He flinches hard enough to leave bruises on his wrist, unconsciously jerking at the manacle circling it, when a loud, metallic bang violently pulls him out of his thoughts, and he come to just in time to see the bucket Cheryl’d been holding roll noisily across the floor of the cell away from him. It comes to a sorry halt next to the other bucket already there.

“I hate you so much.” He hears the words just barely, muttered under Cheryl’s breath, but the pain they hold is still starkly, awfully clear. Jughead lets his gaze snap back over to her, catches the tremor in her hand before she balls it into a fist, mirroring her other. Then she huffs out a watery breath and jerkily spins around, heels clicking loudly as she walks towards the door of the cell and out through it, the sound echoing after her down the long dark hall beyond. Her mother doesn’t even have the decency to spare her a glance, back turned firmly towards her only remaining child, as if there’s no doubt in her mind that Cheryl will calm down and come around.

Or maybe she just doesn’t care, Jughead thinks, his heart racing violently in his chest when he catches Sweet Pea staring up at her, cheeks wet and face drawn, the smudges of his blood so very shockingly bright against his sickly-pale skin. Because this isn’t over yet and now they’re alone with Mrs. Blossom and her sadistic whims. Something in Jughead’s throat pulls tight and he has to concentrate to be able to keep breathing around it.

If only he weren’t so fucking helpless.

“Now, then. Where were we?” Mrs. Blossom hums, that same dark contentment back in her voice as she circles the wrist of the hand holding the cup, as if swirling what’s left of the acid around in it lazily. “Ah, yes. Who else helped you? Who else are you trying to protect? It’s impossible that you would have been able to survive and stay unseen all this time without further help. Give me everyone.”

Jughead sees Sweet Pea’s trembling limbs go stiff, and he can’t help the faces that flood into his mind like little flares in the dark. Fangs, Toni, Toni’s grandfather, and God knows who else whom Jughead doesn’t even know about, yet. Because that’s what she wants, right? Those lives as well as Sweet Pea’s and his. And, once those names have been given, is she ever going to believe that his dad is as unsuspecting of all of this as she made him out to be earlier? Jughead honestly doubts that his dad has any idea what’s going on, but fuck if she’ll take his word for it. He can’t let that happen.

He _can’t_.

“I – _wasn’t_ alone.” Sweet Pea’s voice startles Jughead out of his thoughts and he looks at Sweet Pea with widening eyes. The words sound horribly strained, like every syllable is harsh labor, causing pain as they work their way up his abused throat and Jughead can’t help but stare at him in disbelief. After everything Fangs and Toni said about him, there’s no way Sweet Pea would give them up now, right?

“Come now, don’t stop there. Out with it.” Jughead can hear the glee in Mrs. Blossom’s words as she prods for more, can almost picture the expression on her face as she reaches out and tilts the cup in her hand until a trickle of its contents flows out over the rim. It lands on Sweet Pea’s hand and neck and the skin there immediately starts to redden and then dissolve, laying bare the shiny-wet flesh underneath. Sweet Pea groans and twitches with the fresh wave of pain, eyes screwing shut and breathing labored, but that’s all. No clawing at the wounds, no trying to twist out of Mrs. Blossom’s reach.

He just lays there panting as he waits for his body’s diminished healing capacity to gain the upper hand and stop the acid from eating through him at least. That’s all he’s got left in him, Jughead thinks, eyes going dangerously foggy again as his face grows hot with a fresh wave of anger and despair, even as the chill of this place seeps deeper into his bones, wet and miserable as he is with the wounds on his face throbbing harshly in the same rhythm as his frantic heart.

“My grandmother.” Sweet Pea finally manages to force out, fingers twitching uselessly against the stained stone floor. “She was wolf like me. She raised me and taught me how to hide myself, how to survive. But she’s already dead. So there’s nothing left there for you to find. No one else knows. Too dangerous. ‘Don’t tell anyone if you want to stay alive’, that’s always been the most important rule.”

_Oh_ , Jughead thinks and lets the breath he hadn’t been aware of holding whoosh out of his lungs quietly. Of course. Of course Sweet Pea wouldn’t give his friends away. Not even for this. ‘At least for now’, a cynical little voice at the back of his head whispers, and Jughead hates it viciously, but at the same time he can’t help but think that it isn’t wrong. That both Sweet Pea and him have a breaking point and somehow he thinks that Penelope Blossom is plenty capable of finding that.

“Hmm, how very convenient.” Mrs. Blossom muses, the tip of one of her elegant and no doubt very expensive shoes grazing the symbols marking the barrier that’s keeping Sweet Pea confined just so. “Do you really expect me to believe that that’s all? I suppose we’ll see how long you’ll be able to stick with that story.”

Her hand shoots out and in one calculated motion she empties the rest of its contents out across Sweet Pea’s cowering form, while at the same time taking a step to the side and reaching out with her other hand, her wedding tapping against the wall of the cell.

Drenched as Jughead is, the shock hurts even more this time when it hits him and it feels like it lasts for forever, his vision going white as his entire being is reduced to a twitching mass of flaming nerves.

Time passes differently after that.

Jughead keels over, unable to hold himself upright any longer, and it’s like a dull fog rises to envelop him. The sounds around him feel strangely hushed and he can only make out bits and pieces of what’s being said, his eyes unfocused as he tries to take in what’s happening. Every time he blinks it feels like time has fast-forward and he doesn’t know what’s going on any more. A feeling somehow strangely, horribly familiar.

He can hear Sweet Pea screaming, he thinks, every now and again. And sometimes a sharp flash of pain cuts through the numbness and the fog, leaving his own throat feeling raw and his face wet, the taste of copper lingering stickily on his tongue.

Just as he thinks that this is it, this is where he dies, leaving this world chained up in a madwoman’s cell together with the boy who hurt him, kidnapped him, threatened his family and friends, fucked him over and over again until he thought he’d lose himself, and then backed off and showed kindness and made the world tilt on its axis one more time until he wasn’t sure anymore which way’d been up in the first place. Who held him like Jughead was the most precious thing in the world, when all Jughead wanted was to never be touched again, not by him. Just as those thoughts race through his head, painful and filled with so much regret, darkness’s spindly fingers reaching for him, creeping in all around the frayed edges of what’s left of him, it stops.

He blinks to see Mrs. Blossom turn and walk for the door through his hazy vision, his mind too slow on the uptake to understand what’s happening. She says something as she stops in the doorway to the cell and takes out her amulet once more to hold it against the frame, symbols flashing brightly all around, but the words don’t reach him. He blinks and it’s pitch black.

It feels a little like he’s floating in Sweetwater River in the middle of winter, pieces of ice brushing his numbing flesh whenever he tries to move, the pain of sharp edges cutting into him but without breaking his skin. His head is empty and he feels light, lighter than he should.

There are sounds in the dark, soft and muffled. Grunts of pain and something heavy dragging across the cold, hard floor excruciatingly slowly. Jughead tries to move again, but he can’t. He doesn’t have the strength.

He blinks and he’s wrapped up in heat. Something huge and so warm it feels like it’s going to burn him right up curled around him like a living, breathing blanket. This time, when Jughead tries to move, the reason that he can’t is different from before. His first instinct is to panic, but the fluttery feeling in his gut flares and fades again without much effect. He’s too tired to do it properly. His head is empty now, but he can feel flashes of images lurking just underneath, and those he still remembers to be afraid of, albeit in a strange, distant sort of way. He does not want to see those things play out ever again.

The iron tang of blood is thick and cloying in the air around him and the body wrapped around his won’t stop shaking. Nausea rises and fades in waves, but with no real consequence.

Wet lips press against his nape, limbs tightening around him and Jughead barely notices the sob clawing its way up his throat until he’s trembling with it. The first followed by another, then another, until he’s crying so harshly his whole body convulses around the hurt. And the hot pain in his chest isn’t just for himself, it’s something that reaches out through layers of flesh and bone towards the second heart racing along with his own right in front of him, in a way he cannot control. Even with everything he’s been through. He doesn’t want this, he thinks he remembers that much, but what he does or does not want hasn’t really mattered for a while now, has it? Jughead feels like his insides are leaking out through is eyes. And, shamefully, he clings. To the body wrapped around him so tightly it’s almost painful. Ragged breaths syncing up, echoing all around them in the darkness as Sweet Pea’s fingers dig into his back hard enough to leave fresh bruises behind that throb and throb and throb.

Because Sweet Pea is the only thing solid left in the world and Jughead can’t bring himself to let go, he can’t even bring himself to honestly _want_ to. He feels raw and impossible, like he’s somehow betraying himself by holding on instead of pushing away, but no matter how much he thinks he should, he can’t bring himself to give up Sweet Pea’s warmth. To let go of the boy who suffered through all of that excruciating pain just to keep his friends safe.

He has no idea how long it takes for him to drift off again. He’s not sure he can still properly tell the difference between dream and reality either way.

~*~*~

The whole world shifts and shudders violently around him, a bang dull but loud enough to leave his ears ringing jerking Jughead back into wakefulness. His heart racing and his breath picking up instantly. The arms cradling him close stiffen and tighten as Sweet Pea comes to with a low groan and the air is forced out of Jughead’s lungs in a harsh rush.

But even with his eyes blinking open, Jughead cannot tell what’s going on. The darkness encasing them is still thick and total.

“What was that?” Jughead finally manages to make himself say, once Sweet Pea’s grip has loosened enough for him to be able to draw air into his lungs again. The sound of his own voice is harsh and raw and his dry throat burns in protest. He feels too warm, like there’s a fire smoldering beneath his skin, heat pooling behind the lids of his eyes, even though the floor is still a line of shivery, biting cold all along his side. A fever maybe, he thinks, but gets distracted again quickly, when another explosion shakes the cell around them and a soft coating of dust and tiny rubble rains down from the ceiling above.

“I don’t know.” Sweet Pea presses out, his voice sounding worse than Jughead’s own even, and it tugs painfully on something hard and sharp lodged firmly in Jughead’s gut. “Something’s wrong.”

Another harsh tremor runs through the cell, the resounding boom louder this time, the source of the shock closer.

Sweet Pea groans long and low and starts to shift just as the lights flicker on and then out again, a second of illumination cutting through the darkness. Just enough to catch the angry red of burnt skin and dried, crusted blood. For some reason, Sweet Pea’s arms loosening their grip around Jughead sends a sudden, harsh wave of spiking panic through him and he makes a distressed sound at the back of his throat, shaking fingers digging into Sweet Pea’s sides until Sweet Pea gives a quiet grunt and Jughead remembers that his skin is barely covering his flesh right now and he needs to be careful. The amulet against Jughead’s chest feels like it’s glowing with warmth, but it’s not painful. There are more than enough other things that _are_.

Sweet Pea grunts and stops trying to sit up, one of his hands slowly moving from Jughead’s back to his forehead. Jughead can feel the tremors running through it as it rests there, strangely cool and soothing in the midst of this hellish fever-scape.

“Shit, you’re burning up.” Sweet Pea croaks, then makes a startled sound before collapsing back to the floor and panting harshly, his hand dropping away from Jughead’s forehead. Jughead has just enough time to be grateful that Sweet Pea landed next to him and not on top of him, before the next explosion overhead rattles through his bones, closer again than before.

There’s something happening, that much is fucking obvious, his pulse is racing with the adrenaline of it, with the need to do something other than lie there and wait it out, but even the thought of moving seems like it might take more energy than he can muster right now. The inside of his body is bathed in heat, a strange fog gathered in his mind, while everything touching his skin seems drenched in ice.

But that’s wrong, that’s not supposed to be who he is, some vague distant part of himself still remembers that much. Clenching his teeth and mustering what strength he can to fight through the fever-haze, Jughead forces himself to unclench his fingers, to loosen his grip on Sweet Pea’s sides until he can move them away entirely. Then starts to struggle and twist until he can slip out of the circle of Sweet Pea’s arms somewhat and make himself sit up as best he can, his muscles shaking with the strain of the motions and a thin sheen of cold sweat dampening his skin as he takes one shivery breath after the next. Trying desperately to fight off the dizziness that’s making it feel as if the darkness around him is spinning in circles, the floor much too unsteady beneath his palms. Sweet Pea’s arms slip away with a displeased growl and one of his hands fists into the still damp fabric of Jughead’s shirt just over his hip.

Both of their breathing sounds loud and ragged in the now precarious quiet of their little cell.

The rattle of the door’s lock engaging startles Jughead so badly he almost jumps out of his own skin, Sweet Pea flinching next to him and tugging at Jughead’s shirt hard enough to nearly topple him over. But Jughead somehow manages to catch himself, palms pressed to the cold hard floor, just as the heavy metal door begins to groan on its hinges and then light bursts into existence all around them and Jughead is blinded for a horrible count of seconds. Blinking frantically, eyes tearing up as they get used to the sudden brightness again.

The sound of high-heeled boots clicking across hard stone floor, more ragged breathing and the unmistakable scent of fresh blood all reach Jughead just before his vision finally clears and his gaze lands on Penelope Blossom staggering towards Sweet Pea and him. A sharp, vicious flash of terror stabs through Jughead before he has a chance to really process the sight of her. Because she looks so very different now than she had when she’d set foot in their cell the first time earlier.

Where she’d been all seamless, regal composure before, she is a haggard mess now. Her clothes stained and tattered in places, skin and cloth alike streaked with ash and dirt, messy strands of hair sticking out from her strict bun at strange angles. One gloved hand clutching at her left shoulder where the bolt of a crossbow is sticking out of a torn bit of fabric soaked crimson. And her face, her face is a mask of pure rage that sends ice rushing through Jughead’s veins and sends his head spinning all over again.

The fingers of Mrs. Blossom’s free hand are loosely wrapped around the handle of a gun. Jughead’s never been a fan of firearms and he has no idea the make or model of it, all he can tell is that it looks old, the dark metal glinting dully in the too bright light and the chamber round and protruding like the ones you see in Western movies where you have to load each bullet in separately.

Penelope’s rage-bright eyes lock onto Jughead and her slightly hobbled steps cross the cell before he has a chance to unfreeze himself. As soon as she reaches him, she lets go of her shoulder and grabs onto Jughead’s forearm instead, thin fingers digging into his skin with a surprising amount of strength and she pulls him up onto his feet in a blur of painful motion, spins him around and walks them backward until her spine is up against the wall and Jughead’s back is pressed against her front, the bolt sticking out of her shoulder brushing awkwardly against Jughead’s own and warm blood soaking into the back of his shirt to mingle with the dried, itchy stain that Sweet Pea’s had left behind there already.

Jughead stumbles along with her uselessly, his limbs ungainly and shaky with the fever and the after-math of having electricity shot through them at a distinctly painful voltage over and over again while he watched helplessly as acid ate through Sweet Pea’s skin. His eyes land on the other boy, drawn there by the rough, desperate sounds coming from him and, God, the sight of him is enough to knock the breath right out of Jughead all over again. There’s hardly a patch of bared skin that doesn’t look acid-burnt, even on his face, patches of hair missing from his scalp, some of the freshly regrown skin bright pink, other places scabbed over or oozing reddish-clear liquid. And in the center of the mess that is his chest, the amulet that’s keeping him from healing quickly enough, that’s keeping Jughead alive and slowly killing Sweet Pea.

Sweet Pea is struggling to get up, eyes shining golden and sharpened teeth bared in a horrible snarl, but failing again and again, his arms giving out every time he tries to put more weight onto them. Breath trapped in his lungs as if in a pressure tank, Jughead tries to take a step towards him, away from the quickened rise and fall of Mrs. Blossom’s chest against his shoulder blades, pulled from one monster to another, a subconscious thing that Jughead does not have the time nor the capacity to think about too closely right now. Because he freezes mid-motion when something cool and metallic pressed against his right temple, eyes going wide and mouth dropping open.

“Do not move so much as a muscle, if you want to live, child.” Mrs. Blossom hisses into Jughead’s ear and a fresh wave of panic shoots through him, rendering him helpless once again. ‘So that’s how it is, huh?’, Jughead thinks frantically, unbidden, and has to put effort into fighting down the shaky laugh bubbling around in his chest. If this were a book or a movie, he’d probably spend hours dissecting its horrible cliché of a plot, lamenting about the writer’s poor decisions and the overused scenario of the climax no doubt about to be presented to the audience. But this is neither, it’s reality to him, it’s his fucking _life_ , and somehow there’s no room for his usual cynicism here, only the tremors of fear shaking his fingers and the millions of different possibilities of what horrible thing is going to happen next.

He thought he’d had the time to come to terms with the fact that neither he nor Sweet Pea are going to make it out of this alive, but apparently he was wrong. He doesn’t fucking want to die, he can’t help it.

The sound of more footsteps echoing down the hall and rushing towards the cell tears Jughead out of his thoughts. Multiple sets, the click of high-heels mixed in with the duller thud of flatter soles, rhythms rushed and out of sync.

The first figure appearing in the doorway comes in a blur of billowing red hair, cut bottom lip bleeding sluggishly and ash smudged all across her pale face, crossbow clutched firmly in her right hand. Cheryl loses no time stepping into the cell, her gaze sliding over Sweet Pea, taking in his state quickly, eyes widening and mouth pulling perceptibly tighter, then locking onto Jughead and her mother behind him.

Then, only seconds later, two more people come to a sudden halt within the metal frame of the cell’s gaping doorway, both of them shockingly familiar. Toni and Fangs standing shoulder to shoulder, grim-faced and out of breath. They both look pretty banged up, covered in dirt and ash, scrapes and bruises, but from what Jughead can tell in the split second he has to take them in, nothing more severe than that. It feels so surreal seeing them now and Jughead has no fucking clue what the hell is going on, but the relief that washes over him at the sight of them is almost enough to buckle his knees and topple him over.

Though the rage and fear that flashes across their faces once their eyes land on Sweet Pea and they take in the state of him as well for the first time is more than a little sobering. Sweet Pea huffs and growls through an unnaturally large set of sharp, pointy teeth, something about the shape of his jaw _wrong_ as he struggles and fails to heave himself upright again and again. Limbs awkward and muscles twitching starkly beneath marred skin, his eyes ablaze with gold and boring into Jughead’s in a way that makes him want to curl into himself and cower, the instinct to fall to the ground and bare his throat with a miserable whimper to preserve his own life so sudden and so strong he jerks in Mrs. Blossom’s grip. Makes her hiss in his ear and press the gun closer to his temple. Just enough to bring Jughead out of the spiral of blind panic, heart racing and static rushing through his ears, unable to decide where to focus his gaze.

The scabbed over bite mark on the back of his neck throbs in tune with his frantic heartbeat.

“Come one step closer and I will paint the walls with this child’s brains.” Mrs. Blossom’s voice sounds from behind Jughead, disconcertingly calm and forceful for the way he can feel the light tremors running through her lithe but strong frame where it’s pressed against his back. Everyone’s eyes snap onto the two of them then and all three people standing in front of him freeze in their tracks for good. Only the sound of Sweet Pea’s struggles does not fade and with the state he is in right now, Jughead’s not even sure Sweet Pea can process the words properly.

Is he going to manage the change? What will happen, if he does? Both Fangs’ and Toni’s expressions are drawn and pale, backs straight and ready for a fight, but shoulders pulled too high. There’s a worn ax with a rusty blade dangling from one of Fangs’ hands and Toni’s knuckles are wrapped in shiny brass.

“Let him go, mumsy. You’ve already lost.” Cheryl’s stance is firm and the raised, loaded crossbow in her hand points steadily to a spot just over Jughead’s right shoulder. The mascara around her eyes is all smudged up, messy streaks of black running through the ash on her cheeks, and though her voice is surprisingly steady, the words she speaks last are low and almost-fragile. “I don’t want to have to hurt you again, but I will if you make me.”

Jughead can feel Mrs. Blossom tense at his back, her body vibrating with some unnamed emotion as she huffs out a violent puff of air. “How could you – flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood – take sides with these – these _abominations_! How dare you betray me like this? You have no right after everything I have done for you, after everything I have _sacrificed_ for you _._ ” Her words cut harshly through the thick air encasing them, whirling around in the heated fog in Jughead’s mind, making frantic little swirls of it before it rises up more firmly again. He can feel beads of cold sweat gather on his forehead, leaving the palms of his hands damp and sticky.

The pained sounds coming from Sweet Pea grow louder and more distorted, but Jughead is too afraid to look at him, his gaze trapped by the sight of Cheryl’s face growing paler with a mixture of pain and anger that seems so very dangerous. “You’re wrong!” Cheryl blurts out, her composure slipping more and more, but the arm holding her crossbow remains eerily steady. “Everything you did was for _yourself_. It always has been. You and daddy both. That’s why Jason wanted to leave so badly. To get away from your wretched selfishness. And you _let_ daddy kill him! You saw how Jason was suffering and you never lifted a finger to protect him, or me. You and your ways both are outdated and all wrong. I tried so hard to do what you wanted so that you would see me, so that you _love_ me, but none of it was ever good enough for you and I am _done_. Now let go of my classmate or I _will_ put another arrow through you.”

There are tiny gray spots dancing across Jughead’s field of vision and he can feel a strange tingling sensation spread out through his legs, weak at the knees, and the tips of his fingers. He feels lighter than he should. Mrs. Blossom scoffs out an angry breath. “You don’t know what you are talking about, daughter mine. Don’t be so stupidly childish about all of this.” Her voice sounds harsh in Jughead’s ears, though at the same time somehow cushioned and dulled around the edges.

Something taps twice lightly against the manacle wrapped around his wrist and Jughead realizes that it must have been Mrs. Blossom’s fingers just before the hard metal gives a soft click and then drops away, landing on the stone floor with a loud, jarring rattle that echoes through Jughead’s bones as he flinches against Mrs. Blossom’s chest. The cool muzzle of the gun presses harder against his temple in warning and Jughead swallows thickly as she wraps her injured arm around his waist and starts to slowly move, tugging him along with her.

Everyone’s eyes are glued to the two of them, Mrs. Blossom carefully, slowly moving along the wall of the cell, circling away from Cheryl and towards the door ever so slowly, where Fangs and Toni are still standing, blocking the way out. Jughead’s feet feel strangely heavy and his legs move in a way that’s clumsy and weird, as if the signals from his brain are somehow delayed and distorted on their way down. Breathing too harshly, gray circling in on his vision from its edges and narrowing it dangerously, Jughead catches another glimpse of Sweet Pea, limbs all wrong and misshapen where he’s lying on the ground struggling and groaning in a voice that hardly sounds human anymore, burnt skin growing sparse, sickly patches of fur in places, and piercing, mindless eyes of glowing gold glued to every one of Jughead’s motions.

Somehow, Jughead knows that they are about to reach some kind of conclusion, that the tension of the situation they are caught in is steering towards an inevitable head and that its breaking is going to be bad. That strange sense of foreboding that leaves a bitter, coppery taste at the back of his tongue. And he can feel his own heart racing frantically, his chest heaving to keep up with it, hands shaking at his sides, but somehow, he doesn’t _feel_ afraid. He doesn’t feel anything at all. It’s like he’s far away, floating above himself and watching the situation unfold from a safe distance, from a place where he cannot be touched by any of it.

He can hear Cheryl say more, her voice harsh and pleading at the same time, but he doesn’t process the words, doesn’t understand what Mrs. Blossom answers either as she keeps on moving, tugging Jughead along relentlessly. Fangs and Toni’s stances shifting wider, at the ready, gearing up for a fight, murder gleaming in their eyes to hide the stark fear underneath.

Both Cheryl’s and Mrs. Blossom’s voices growing louder until they are shouting at each other, Jughead wincing with a discomfort that barely reaches him. Being jerked around more harshly, Fangs’ and Toni’s eyes going wide as the gun drops away from Jughead’s temple and he’s suddenly shoved, stumbling, tripping over his own feet and landing on his hands and knees hard enough to jar his bones but still not enough to snap him back into himself.

Then the sound of a gunshot echoing impossibly loud through the enclosed space of the cell, finally managing what the impact before had not and yanking Jughead into his body so forcefully it leaves him breathless. Heat blooming through the side of his head as his ears ring harshly enough to drown out everything else. The world tilting, faces flashing by, distorted with shock and horror, bodies bursting into motion, a streak of red rushing out of the cell unstopped as they all crowd towards its middle.

Jughead’s vision snapping to a vertical, level with Sweet Pea, so close Jughead could touch him if he had the strength to lift his arm and reach out. Sweet Pea’s eyes no longer golden but human-dark, wide, a strange look of pained surprise on his shifting-back-to-normal face as he stares back at Jughead. Just a boy with too many scars and a monster hiding under his skin.

Vaguely, Jughead sees Fangs drop to his knees next to Sweet Pea, naked panic in his eyes as his hands fall to Sweet Pea’s chest, pressing down, talking frantically, his words drowned out by the ringing in Jughead’s ears as red seeps through Fangs’ fingers in a thick, sticky stream. Hands on Jughead’s own shoulder, grip too tight and Toni’s bright-pink hair grazing the edge of his vision.

Sweet Pea’s mouth drops open, his eyes glued to Jughead’s, holding Jughead captive with his gaze, pinning him down with it, a trickle of blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth, marred skin growing paler. A brush of something against Jughead’s palm, cold fingers grasping hopelessly, shooting an unexpected burst of pain through his own chest that Jughead is much too far gone to even begin to decipher now.

Jughead sees Fangs grasp at the amulet on Sweet Pea’s chest with bloody fingers, tear it away from Sweet Pea’s burnt skin, just before his world tilts again and is suddenly filled with Toni’s tear-streaked face framed by her long, bright hair. Her lips are moving, a steady stream of words that Jughead cannot decipher as her hands tug at the neck of his stained t-shirt, looking for something. Jostling him around until her fingers finally wrap around the leather cord attached to his own pendant.

She yanks at it and a sudden jolt shoots through his core, through the fabric of his soul, followed by a fresh wave of panic. No. No, no, no. She can’t take that away form him. He’s not – he won’t be able to –

Clumsily Jughead lifts up his arms and tries to grasp at her, to stop her, but she bats his hands away much too easily, one of hers coming up to cradle his cheek and force him to look at her again. Her tears, hot and wet, land on his cheeks as her lips form the same word over and over again. ‘ _Please_ ’. Toni’s eyes slipping away from his face and over to where Sweet Pea is lying next to him, then back to Jughead, and there’s so much pain there, so much despair that it hurts to look at her.

And somehow he knows. That what she’s asking him for is Sweet Pea’s life. That she somehow thinks what she’s doing is going to save him.

Jughead wants to scream. He wants to climb to his feet and run as far and as fast as he can get. Away from every single one of the horrors he’s lived through this past week, but he knows with a leaden kind of certainty that he can’t. He doesn’t even have enough energy left to fight Toni off. There’s nothing he can do to stop her, as she pulls again, hard, and finally, with a strange sort of sensation like a vacuum being broken, the amulet detaches from his chest.

Jughead freezes, throat closing up, pulse racing violently and, for a second, nothing happens. Everything seems suspended. As if time itself took a breath and held it.

And then he just – drops. One moment the floor underneath him is solid and cold and real, and the next it’s gone. Opened to an abyss of darkness that swallows Jughead up, leaves him plummeting through empty space that feels thicker than air, soft like water against his skin. Smooth like oil as it curls around him, warm where it touches.

Lungs aching Jughead opens his mouth and tries to pull in a breath, but all there is is thick darkness clogging up his throat as soon as he lets it in. He chokes and fights against it, chest convulsing helplessly, head swimming and hands going numb. And just as he can feel himself begin to slip, it stops.

From one second to the next Jughead’s not falling anymore and the darkness around his face is thin and breathable and he sucks it into his burning lungs greedily.

He’s floating on an ocean of pure black, an ink-black sky curving over him, the only way to distinguish one from the other by feel. The pain is gone and the warmth around him feels soft, like a careful embrace, like the way you’d touch something fragile and precious. But he’s still afraid, he can’t help it. The memory of the vicious, poisonous thing twisting in his chest and slithering through his veins, eating away at him, filling up his lungs bit by bit, is still too vivid and strong. And he can feel that viciousness lurking just at the edge of his consciousness still, just waiting to rush back in and completely devour him.

There’s something other than that there too, though, something softer and more gentle, and suddenly Jughead becomes aware of the fact that he is not alone. Pulse speeding up again, Jughead tilts his head to the side as far as the dark ocean he is floating on lets him and there he is, Sweet Pea drifting next to him. Soft waves gently rocking them both. Sweet Pea whole and human and unmarred. Seemingly nothing more than a teenage boy who’s troubled soul doesn’t quite fit his large frame, yet. Though Jughead knows that that’s not right, that that’s not all of it, somehow that is still the image his mind gets stuck on. As if there’s a wall built up in his head keeping all of the horror hiding there as well at bay just so, even though he can feel them writhing and twisting as they struggle to be set free.

It’s strange, because there is no light where they are, not a trace of it, and still, Jughead can see Sweet Pea perfectly clearly. The warm, saturated, almost-liquid brown of his eyes, the soft curve of his full lips, the pale fingers that brush lightly against Jughead’s own where they float at his side. Jughead’s first instinct is to shy away, to flee. But where to? There _is_ nowhere but here. There is only Sweet Pea.

“The bond between two lovers is one of the most powerful magics there is.” Sweet Pea’s voice is soft and low and it glides through the short distance between them like wet silk. There’s a lurch in Jughead’s stomach and he sucks in a startled breath and grasps Sweet Pea’s hand in a desperate effort to keep himself from plummeting again. Clings as tightly as he can with Sweet Pea’s gaze sinking into him. He’s not sure if holding is saving him or condemning him, the feeling twisting in his stomach slowly crawling up his throat until his gums are tingling with it, but he cannot make himself let go.

“’ _I want you’_ isn’t the same thing as ‘ _I love you_ ’.” Jughead says, his own voice just as soft as Sweet Pea’s but more fragile, fear a bitter, tangible thing that carries with it. He’s not sure where those words came from, he doesn’t remember thinking them before speaking, but they feel strangely weighty.

“Please let me in.” Sweet Pea murmurs, twisting slowly in the water, eyes pleading as he reaches for Jughead with his free hand, cradling Jughead’s face in his palm ever so softly.

A sound like a whimper slips up Jughead’s throat, mouth twisted downward and salt blurring his vision. He’s so afraid, so scared of what it’ll mean if he gives in now. He doesn’t want to lose himself to this. He’s spent his entire life viciously, desperately protecting what Sweet Pea is asking him to give up now.

In a way Sweet Pea has already seen and touched every last, secret part of Jughead. Has forced his way into the nooks and crannies of Jughead’s soul that he’s wanted to keep safe and hidden so badly with a careful, relentless violence. But it’s different when these things are taken by force than when you’re asked to give them up willingly, Jughead thinks with his heart in his throat and his fingers clutching Sweet Pea’s hard enough that he can feel them start to go numb.

Sweet Pea gently tilts Jughead’s face to the side and leans in, slowly, slowly until Jughead can feel Sweet Pea’s warm breath gusting across his skin, tickling tear-streaked cheeks, egging on the blood that rushes painfully through Jughead’s veins. Jughead sucks in another stinging breath, just before soft lips cover his own. Sweet Pea kissing him like Jughead is made of wet paper. Like one wrong touch will make him break apart.

Some flickering part of Jughead wants to lash out, to bite and claw and fight for what little he’s got left with all he’s worth, but…

There’s so much vulnerability in the gentleness of that kiss. Sweet Pea is begging for his life with lips sliding against Jughead’s.

And Jughead is so tired, worn thin like a ghost barely even real anymore and as he can feel himself begin to sink again, Sweet Pea is the only thing there to hold cling to. Sweet Pea is the only thing solid and real and tangible in the midst of the fear and the uncertainty as the dark water closes in over his head and sucks the both of them deeper, intertwined as they are, arms and legs tangling. A mockery of lovers embracing. One pleading for his fading life, the other shaking with fear, dragged along hopelessly.

It feels painfully familiar, this.

And then the water starts to seep into him again, warm and thick in through his nose and his mouth, filling up his lungs as Sweet Pea keeps kissing him softly, Jughead’s fingers digging grooves into Sweet Pea’s wide back. Jughead’s body seizing up, clamping down, panic squirming helplessly as the darkness pushes against something tender and painful inside of his chest. Pushes and prods and builds up pressure slowly as his lungs begin to burn, Sweet Pea’s hand against the small of his back, at the back of neck where the bite mark throbs and burns viciously, holding him close.

It’s the same as before but it’s not. It’s desperate, but softer, gentler, even though it _hurts_. The pressure that keeps building, making it feel like something vital is about to give, Jughead’s heart racing out of control, head spinning violently. Then Sweet Pea presses his mouth against Jughead’s harder, seals their lips closed and pries Jughead’s apart and _breathes_ into him. Adding the last bit of a push and Jughead jerks in Sweet Pea’s arms as the pressure rises to unbearable and the thing inside of him finally breaks. Jughead’s last defense, the last bit of resistance he’d had to offer torn down.

And then, all at once, it’s like a set of floodgates have been opened. Smooth, silky warmth rushing into him, filling up every inch of his body, ever corner of his soul, until there’s nothing left untouched. While at the same time a small part of himself is sucked away, pulled out of him and stretched and lengthened like a piece of chewing gum until it disappears into Sweet Pea.

A jolt goes through him, through his insides, as something settles into place that’s been kept waiting for too long, the force of it something that’s built up more than it should have, strained and charged, and for a horrible, panicked moment Jughead wonders if his body and his soul will be able to handle it. But then, sudden enough to leave Jughead reeling, it subsides, ebbs off into something softer. Takes all of the chaos in Jughead’s head with it, heartbeat slowing and breathing coming at a more natural pace, possible and easy all of a sudden.

Jughead can feel Sweet Pea like he’s glowing, even with his eyes closed. Both pressed up against Jughead’s chest and _inside_ of it. Such an alien sensation. The knowledge that he’s not alone in his body anymore. Calm and warm even through the strange sense of panic fluttering around the edges of that thought. A thin trickle of emotion seeps into him from the boy holding him in his arms. Relief and joy and want.

But those things do not last. Because what follows, what washes into Jughead next to replace them is a horrible mix of fear and pain and desperation and it’s _too much_ all at once. His own fear rising sharply as he’s being overwhelmed, as it feels like he’s drowning again. Jughead tries to push back, to close himself off, but he doesn’t stand a chance. He’s like a tiny little leaf caught in the violent swirls of a storm-fed river as the tide turns again and instead of something being fed into him Sweet Pea starts to _pull_.

A powerful tug that Jughead can feel vibrate through his toes, through the tips of his fingers, through the very core of him, as if the life is being sucked right out of him. And with a horrible start Jughead somehow realizes that that’s exactly what’s happening. That what’s being taken is too much too quickly and Jughead once again tries to fight back, to stop it, fists clawing at Sweet Pea’s chest, solid and immovable. But it’s no use, Jughead is helpless against it, helpless to do anything but feel his life being drained away, feel himself grow weaker by the second, until his hands stop their useless motions and drop away. Until the dark around him turns into a spinning maelstrom pulling him deeper, heavy like a stone, slipping.

The last thing Jughead hears is Toni’s panicked voice calling his name from somewhere far, far off, muffled and dull, before he’s just – gone.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, that's another cliffhanger right there. I am fully aware of my crimes and, uh, I'm sorry? Do I need to go into hiding for a couple of days or are you guys going to let me live? alskdfjasl <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> If you liked this, you would absolutely make an author's day/week/month, by leaving a little kudos or even a comment, if you feel like it. I hope you're all doing well! <3
> 
> As a side note: If you feel like I missed tagging or warning for something, please feel free to let me know and I will gladly fix it.


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